RICH    DE  KROYFT 


c 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Ben  B.  Lindsey 


MORTARA 


BY 

MRS.  HELEN  ALDEICH  DE  KROYFT 


I  heard  it  in  the  breezes,  and  my  heart  shaped  it  out  of  the 
hoarse  voices  of  the  winds,  —  He  will  come  again,  he  will  come 
again ! 


CAMBRIDGE 

at  t&c  EtoersiUe 

1888 


Copyright,  1888, 
BY  MRS.  HELEN  ALDRICH  DE  KROYFT. 


DED1CA  TION 

Looking  back  through  the  years  to  all  those  tvho  "in 
their  lives"  have  been  "lovely  and  pleasant"  to  me,  my 
heart  selects  one  too  great  to  more  than  wear  as  a  flower 
on  her  bosom  the  dedication  to  any  work  of  mine  ;  still,  this 
is  my  soul's  best,  and,  eager  to  do  her  ever  so  little  rever 
ence,  here  upon  its  whitest  page  I  inscribe  her  name,  — 

Mrs.  E.  M.  HARDY,  of  Norfolk,  Virginia, 
pausing  the  while  to  set  it  around  with  grateful  memories  ; 
and  so  leave  it  in  the  world,  like  a  thing  of  light,  shining 
forever  in  its  own  nnborrowed  lustre. 


1106174 


PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  lived  much  that  I  have  not  written, 
but  I  have  written  nothing  that  I  have  not  lived, 
and  the  story  of  this  book  is  but  a  plaintive  re 
frain  wrung  from  the  overburdened  song  of  my 
life  ;  while  the  tides  of  feeling,  winding  down 
the  lines,  had  their  sources  in  as  many  broken 
upheavals  of  my  own  heart. 

The  day  that  I  was  a  bride  I  was  a  widow ; 
and  finding  me  thus  weeping  and  alone,  the  fates 
stole  away  the  light  from  my  eyes,  leaving  me 
henceon  to  walk  with  the  angels,  one  on  either 
hand ;  who,  themselves  guiding,  brought  me  ere 
long  to  a  rosy  glen  by  the  sea,  where  resided  one 
of  lofty  mien  and  of  speech  and  manner  courtly. 
Much  learning  he  had,  and  many  tongues  he 
spoke.  (The  gathered  lustre  of  all  lands  shone 
in  the  grace  of  his  presence,  as  the  charity  that 
comes  of  knowing  all  religions  lent  a  charm  to 
his  words,  and  added  potency  to  the  magic  of  his 
smile.  But  most  he  knew  to  heal  a  wounded 
heart,  to  dry  away  tears,  and  bring  smiles  in  their 


vi  PREFACE. 

stead.  Knew  to  gild  with  linings  fair  the  clouds 
himself  could  not  disperse ;  nor  failed  the  sub 
tlety  of  his  art  e'en  to  rally  hope  when  hope 
was  dead ! 

The  name  they  named  him  by  was  goodly, 
ancient,  and  renowned.  It  was  the  name  his 
Syriac  fathers  wore  ;  and  straight  on  down 
through  long  ancestral  lines  of  warriors,  kings, 
and  princes,  flowed  the  haughty  Hebraic  tides 
that  crimsoned  in  his  veins.  Yet,  of  all  his 
graces,  modesty  was  the  chiefest ;  nor  ever 
boasted  he  of  aught  save  that  Honor  was  to  him 
a  ruling  star,  whose  parallax  held  him  ever  to 
God  and  the  right.  . 

Such  was  Mortara,  noblest  of  his  line ;  and, 
having  thus  announced  him,  gentle  reader,  beg 
ging  leave,  I  would  fain  introduce  him  to  you  as 
the  heaven-appointed  hero  of  my  foreshadowed 
way. 


INTRODUCTORY   EXTRACTS 

FROM  LETTERS  WRITTEN  AT  THE  LONG  ISLAND  WATER 
CURE,  OYSTER  BAY,  DURING  THE  SUMMER  AND  AU 
TUMN  OF  1848. 

JULY. 

WHEN  I  proposed  trying  the  city  Cure  awhile 
for  my  eyes,  I  little  dreamed  of  finding  myself 
ensconced  in  this  breezy  place,  and  for  double 
the  time,  —  thanks  to  a  triple  revenue  from  the 
Willowbank  letter. 

The  sail  up  the  Sound  in  company  with  the 
V ice-Chancellor  and  Mrs.  Dr.  Nott,  to  whom  the 
Chancellor  introduced  me  soon  after  your  father 
left,  was  all  that  the  most  solicitous  could  have 
desired.  Indeed,  the  happy  consciousness  of 
once  more  drifting  out  into  the  world,  added  to 
the  exhilaration  of  the  briny  breezes  and  the 
growing  conversation  of  those  two  cultivated 
strangers,  served  to  keep  my  thoughts  quite  aloof 
from  the  chilling  experiences  supposed  to  await 
one  at  a  Water  Cure.  At  the  last  moment,  too, 
a  lovely  Miss  Marsh  came  on  board,  who,  like 
myself,  was  to  be  met  by  the  Doctor  at  the  land 
ing.  His  cordial  reception  was  of  itself  enough 
to  banish  any  fears  one  might  have  entertained 
of  his,  to  say  the  least,  rather  heroic  treatment. 
At  the  establishment,  too,  exchanging  greetings 
with  one  and  another,  I  verily  felt  myself  in 


viii  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

an  atmosphere  many  degrees  warmer  than  Insti 
tution  latitude.  Nothing,,  to  suggest  its  being  a 
Cure,  either,  —  some  playing  ball,  others  return 
ing  from  long  walks,  some  singing,  playing  the 
piano,  organ,  or  guitar.  At  table  the  Doctor 
seated  me  next  himself,  with  Miss  Marsh  at  my 
left,  and  opposite  President  and  dear  Mrs.  Nott, 
who  seem  the  guardian  angels  of  the  house.  In 
deed,  the  very  presence  of  the  venerable  Reverend, 
with  the  sable  Moses  supporting  his  steps,  suffices 
at  once  to  give  tone  and  character  to  the  place. 
The  company,  however,  is  very  select,  and  spiced 
with  a  few  foreigners.  An  English  officer, 
wounded  in  India,  seems  not  only  a  savant 
Europeen,  but  a  Brahmin,  as  well,  in  Oriental 
lore.  But,  strange  to  say,  only  when  in  pain  is 
he  gracious  enough  to  be  social  even  with  the 
revered  President  of  Union  College,  who,  like 
himself,  is  here  to  assuage  the  pangs  of  rheuma 
tism.  Able  to  tramp,  tramp  the  piazzas,  or  pace 
the  walks  among  the  trees,  he  is  austere  and  for 
bidding  to  the  last  degree  ;  but  seized  with  pains 
again,  and  wrapped  first  in  wet  linen,  then  in 
blankets,  then  in  heavy  comforts,  and  set  up  in 
an  armchair  like  a  big  mummy,  and  drawn 
around  to  a  sunny  side  of  the  piazza,  he  is 
straightway  complacence  itself,  polite  as  a  Chester 
field,  wooing  conversation  even  with  passers-by. 
I  do  wonder  if  some  people  have  not  to  be  just 
ever  so  little  hurt  in  body,  heart  or  mind  before 
they  can  be  wholly  whole,  or  altogether  lovely ! 


INTR  OD  UC  TOR  Y  EX  TEA  CTS.  ix 

The  evening  after  my  arrival,  one  of  a  little 
coterie  said  to  me :  "'Able  to  distinguish  those 

, 

around  you  only  as  so  many  shadows,  you  are 
doubtless  the  more  observant  of  voices ;  and 
when  that  little  Cuban  stops  his  music  again, 
please  notice  the  one  in  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Hardy  on  the  side  piazza."  Peals  from  the 
organ  only  increasing,  she  continued  :  — 

"  The  gentleman  was  long  ago  a  student  exile 
from  St.  Petersburg.  Trouble  with  Poland,  I 
believe,  had  something  to  do  with  it,  and  he 
was  afterward  a  great  traveler.  My  husband, 
who  just  left,  is  Captain  Knight  of  the  'New 
World,'  and  he  has  crossed  the  Atlantic  several 
times  with  him.  Once  I  was  on  board.  He  had 
his  wife  and  child  with  him  then,  going  to  locate 
in  the  South  ;  and  some  time  after,  in  New  Or 
leans,  waiting  a  steamer  North,  he  lost  them  both 
with  yellow  fever — had  it  himself,  and  is  here 
now  using  these  packs  and  baths  for  ridding  his 
system  of  the  calomel  administered  to  him  then. 
There !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  Mrs.  Hardy's  maid 

has  come  to  call  her,  and  Mr. is  coming 

this  way.  I  will  present  him." 

She  did  so ;  and  his  first  words,  his  presence 
even,  seemed  Iso  strangely  familiar  that  I  began 
immediately  to  wonder,  and  am  still  wondering, 
where  in  all  the  dreamlands  of  the  soul  our 
spirits  have  ever  crossed  paths  and  exchanged 
greetings  before./  But,  pleasing  as  his  society 
is  to  me,  I  instinctively  avoid  him.  as  I  some- 


X  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

times  think  he  does  me ;  but  even  avoiding  each 
other  we  seem  fated  to  meet,  and  the  other  morn 
ing,  forming  a  party  for  a  little  excursion,  the 
task  of  escorting  me  was  appointed  to  him ;  and 
walking  along,  I  was  amazed  indeed  to  hear  him 
exclaim  with  all  his  polished  fervor  :  — 

(jp  Why  !  if  I  had  ever  lived  in  heaven  I  should 
surely  think  I  had  met  you  there,  for  upon  my 
word  I  cannot  separate  from  my  mind  the  im 
pression  that  I  have  known  you  in  some  other 
land  than  this  !  V  Do  you  see  ?  just  as  though 
all  my  thoughts  of  him  had  been  falling  like  so 
many  counterparts  to  the  shadows  of  his. 


/  SEPTEMBER. 

You  name  it  a  chance  breeze  that  two  moons 
ago  blew  us  together,  but  was  it  the  same  that 
bore  us  apart?  True,  we  met  as  strangers 
always  meet,  but  how  came  our  spirits  so  soon  to 
divine  and  trust  each  other?  Or,  like  Caesar, 
were  you  born  to  conquest,  and  while  your  grace 
ful  attentions  were  winning  my  esteem,  was  it 
only  these  clouds  that  saved  my  heart  from  being 
captured  also  ?  Indeed,  as  well  to  your  gallant 
attentions  as  to  the  good  Doctor's  care,  I  owe  my 
speedy  awakening  from  that  smiling  melancholy, 
as  you  call  it.  You  divined  the  slain  feelings 
that  were  drooping  the  wings  to  my  every  thought, 
and  helped  me  to  banish  them.  You  made  me 
feel  that  I  could  still  add  to  the  happiness  of  at 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xi 

least  one  person  in  the  world/  and  that  was  some 
thing  to  live  for.  ,  Hope  in  my  heart  was  dead, 
but  your  kindness  warmed  it  to  life,  and  where 
no  light  was^  yourself  was  light ;  and  how  I  miss 
you  in  all  tne  walks  of  these  woods !  The  birds 
seem  to  know  that  you  are  absent,  too  :  their 
songs  are  less  gay,  and  the  breezes,  methinks, 
are  lower  on  the  bay< 

As  I  promised,  I  am  writing  you  with  my  own 

hand.      Miss  M sits  apart  yonder,  musing, 

perchance,  by  some  shady  bend  in  the  stream  of 
time,  writing  names  and  hopes  in  the  sands  for 
the  coming  waves  to  melt  away.  So  many  have 
left,  that  she  says  if  you  do  not  return  or  some 
one  else  come  soon  to  keep  us  company,  we  will 
persuade  the  Doctor  that  we,  too,  are  well  enough 
to  dispense  with  his  treatment.  But  oh  !  I  could 
live  forever  by  these  breezy  shores.  Here  my 
heart  has  been  baptized  to  all  new  feelings  and 
new  hopes ;  and  from  these  bubbling  wells,  too, 
my  spirit  has  drunk  in  new  strength  and  new 
resolutions.  These  baths  have  given  me  a  sort 
of  moral  courage,  and  I  almost  long  to  go  out 
and  battle  with  the  world.  Indeed,  my  plans 
are  formed,  I  am  no  more  objectless.  Hereto 
fore,  the  singular  providences  of  my  life  have 
been  to  me  a  handwriting  upon  the  wall ;  but 
to-day  all  is  plain.  Instead  of  misfortunes  I  see 
the  finger-marks  of  the  wisdom  and  the  goodness 
of  God,  whose  blessings  have  faUen  around  me 
here  so  thick  and  fast  that  it  seems  heaven  itself 


xii  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

must  be  near.  Indeed,  the  place  is  hallowed,  and 
evermore  sacred  to  heart  and  memory. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  and  dear  Mrs.  Nott  are 
gone  ;  and  at  morning  and  at  evening  we  hear 
no  more  "  the  old  man  eloquent "  in  song  and  in 
prayer.  The  table,  even,  is  lonely  without  them  ; 
and  there,  too,  my  gallant  friend,  I  miss  thee. 

Many  thanks  for  your  invitation  to  the  Opera. 
A  fragment  of  Norma,  though,  from  your  lips, 
I  would  go  farther  to  hear  again  than  the  whole 
troupe  at  Castle  Garden  !  Soon  you  will  be 
sailing  far  away  to  that  australem  plagam  of 
yours,  where,  you  say,  storms  and  frosts  never 
come,  but  always  summer  with  evenings  of  fresh 
dews  and  gentle  odors.  I  am  very  credulous, 
but  I  cannot  easily  persuade  myself  that  you 
will  miss  me  there,  f  However,  it  is  very  kind  of 
you  to  say  so,  and  I  promise  to  give  you  all 
credit  for  sincerity,  providing  you  sometimes 
re-light  a  little  the  stars  by  sending  me  your 
smiles  on  paper.  / 

You  charge  me  not  to  forget  you.  I  doubt 
if  time  has  any  wave  sufficiently  oblivious  to 
efface  your  sunny  pictures  from  my  thoughts, 
to  say  nothing  of  yourself  \/ 

But  I  must  away.  The  sun  is  low,  and  I 
fancy  his  golden  locks  floating  back  on  the 
waves  while  himself  sinks  gorgeously  into  the 
sea.  But  with  his  bright  to-morrow  may  this 
come  to  you  with  prayers  that  nothing  less  than 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xni 

a  convoy  of  angels  wait  upon  the  bark  that  is 
to  bear  you  away,  f 


OCTOBER. 

The  elegant  stranger,  so  often  mentioned  in 
my  letters  from  here,  left  a  little  time  ago  for 
New  York ;  and  in  our  last  walk  he  spoke  of 
paying  the  Director,  Mr.  Dean,  a  visit,  and 
might  possibly  drive  up  to  the  Institution  also  ; 
"for  I  should  like  to  see,"  he  said,  "  where  you 
are  to  pass  the  winter  before  I  leave  for  the 
South."  Knowing  that  he  saw  Mr.  Dean's  let 
ter  to  the  Doctor,  arranging  for  my  coming  here, 
and  therefore  looked  upon  him  as  standing 
somewhat  in  the  place  of  protector  or  guardian 
to  me,  I  was  puzzled  as  to  what  the  exact  import 
of  that  proposed  visit  might  be.  However,  I 
acknowledged  his  very  manifest  interest  with  a 
polite  "  Thank  you,"  half  believing  that  would 
be  the  end  of  it ;  but  soon  Mr.  Dean  wrote  me 
of  the  very  pleasant  call  he  had  received  from 
my  "new  friend,"  and  asked  teasingly  if  he 
would  be  expected  to  do  the  giving  away.  Dur 
ing  his  absence,  though,  his  letters  to  me  were 
more  about  the  land  he  was  going  to  than  the 
one  he  was  in,  and  my  replies  were  accordingly 
little  more  than  a  succession  of  adieux ;  but,  lo ! 
yesterday  my  "  new  friend  "  returned,  and  more 
chivalrous  and  more  kind  than  ever,  if  possible. 
Mr.  Otis  of  New  York  saw  him  coming  up  the 
walk,  and  exclaimed  :  — 


xiv  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

"  Ha  !  his  majesty  back  again  !  "  instinctively 
drawing  up  his  crutches  to  rise.  Then,  watch 
ing  him  salute  one  and  another  on  the  veranda, 
he  added,  with  something  like  a  sigh  :  "  But  his 
ancestors  were  the  light  and  glory  of  the  world 
when  mine  were  at  best  little  better  than  semi- 
barbarians  ;  and  that  makes  the  difference,  I 
suppose." 

He  just  lifted  up  his  hands  in  amazement 
when  he  saw  me ;  and  no  wonder  !  for  I  have 
never  weighed  so  much  in  my  whole  life  ;  my 
eyes  are  a  world  brighter,  and  Joan,  the  bath- 
girl,  can  find  nothing  to  compare  my  dimpled 
cheeks  to  but  "  pinks  and  roses  sifted  over  with 
snow." 

After  exchanging  greetings  with  them  all  and 
chatting  awhile  in  the  parlor,  he  crossed  over  to 
me,  saying  to  the  Doctor  :  — 

"  Do  you  remember  some  time  back  confiding 
this  dear  lady  to  my  special  charge  for  a  walk 
around  the  lake,  when  she  was  looking  about  as 

'  o 

much  like  her  present  self  as  a  ghost  in  black 
might  resemble  Juno?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  And  you  remember  too,"  he  continued,  "  how 
afterward  I  made  all  the  ladies  here  jealous  by 
my  special  attentions  to  her,  always  lifting  her 
over  the  rough  places  and  taking  her  riding  and 
boating  ?  " 

"Surely,"  replied  the  Doctor  amid  a  merry 
laugh,  "  we  all  remember  those  days." 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xv 

"  Well  now,  you  see,  I  have  come  back  here 
a  lonely  stranger  myself,  sick  and  very  sore- 
hearted  beside  ;  and  I  want  you  to  just  give  me 
into  her  charge,  and  use  all  the  authority  you 
have  for  seeing  that  I  be  taught  all  the  walks 
over  again  that  I  have  forgotten  ;  and  when  it 
is  warm  enough,  I  may  like  to  be  taken  out  for 
a  little  sail,  too,  or  a  drive  over  the  hills." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  she 
ought  to  do  that  much  for  you,  if  not  more,  and 
I  shall  charge  her  especially  to  have  you  always 
back  here  punctually  at  bath  time,  no  matter  if 
the  water  does  become  crusted  over  a  little  with 
ice  !  "  —  alluding  to  his  having  to  be  nearly 
forced  into  the  cold  baths  when  he  first  came, 
like  many  others,  and  sometimes  not  a  little  to 
their  injury,  I  imagine.  Then,  at  a  signal  from 
the  Doctor,  all  left  the  parlors,  strolling  away  in 
various  directions  to  make  the  most,  as  he  said, 
of  the  sunny  afternoon. 

Very  naturally,  my  friend  and  I  fell  into  one 
of  our  old  paths,  and  coming  to  "  Pulpit  Rock," 
as  it  is  called,  whereon  Quaker  John  Fox  stood 
and  preached  to  the  Indians  a  century  or  so  ago,— 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  where  we  sat  down  for 
you  to  rest,  do  you  remember,  in  our  first  walk 
around  this  little  lake  that  morning?  Now, 
although  you  do  not  look  quite  so  much  fatigued 
as  then,  you  must  please  indulge  me  with  a  little 
pause  here."  We  were  hardly  seated  when  he 
said :  — 


xvi  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

"  I  was  up  at  the  Institution  yesterday.  I 
remembered  the  Avenue,  but  did  not  inquire  the 
street,  as  I  wished  to  see  if  I  could  recognize  the 
place  from  your  description  ;  and  do  you  believe, 
1  knew  it  a  block  off.  I  introduced  myself  as 

your  friend,  and  Madam  S walked  with  me 

through  the  building  and  over  the  grounds. 

Then  I  had  some  conversation  with  Mr.  C in 

his  office,  and  when  I  told  him  I  was  coming  up 
here  to  pass  the  Sabbath,  and  added,  upon  my 
own  responsibility,  that  you  would  probably  not 

return  much  before  Thanksgiving,  as  Miss  M 

and  others  of  your  friends  were  to  leave  about 
that  time,  he  confided  to  my  charge  this  little 
package  to  you,  which  was  precisely  what  I 
wished  him  to  do,  as  I  learned  from  Mrs.  Nye, 
when  she  passed  through  the  city,  that  you  had 
directed  your  home  friends  to  address  you  there  ; 
and  I  thought,  having  your  letters,  you  would 
be  more  contented  to  stay." 

Usually,  any  one  who  has  chanced  to  be  near 
has  read  my  miscellaneous  letters  for  me,  but 
those  from  home  I  have  confided  only  to  one 
dear  lady.  To  accept  friendship,  though,  with 
holding  knowledge  of  or  acquaintance  with 
one's  own,  reflects  quite  as  much  upon  them  as 
upon  one's  self.  Besides,  I  was  questioning  now 
the  propriety  of  receiving  these  letters  from  this 
friend,  who  had  taken  such  pains  to  be  the 
bearer  of  them,  and  then  coolly  put  them  by  for 
some  one  to  read  to  me  in  whom  I  might  better 
confide,  when  in  his  irresistible  way  he  said :  — 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xvii 

"  Since  your  special  confidante,  Mrs.  Nye,  has 
left,  but  for  my  bad  English  I  might  hope  to  be 
taken  in  her  place,  and  have  the  pleasure  to  read 
your  letters  for  you."  Then  with  one  swift 
thought  recalling  the  many  times  he  had  paused 
in  our  walks  to  translate  portions  of  his  home 
letters  to  my  hearing,  covering  all  with  a  sigh 
that  they  could  not  have  hailed  from  the  home 
that  was  once  ours  instead  of  from  a  cottage  and 
a  mill,  I  gave  him  the  one  signed  Julia,  you 
dear  one,  to  be  listened  to  first,  telling  all  about 
everything  in-doors  and  out-of-doors,  —  mother, 
the  dear  angel,  rocking  the  baby,  singing  her  to 
sleep,  and  filling  up  the  interims  of  her  song 
with  anxious  messages  to  me  ;  Pamelia  spreading 
the  table,  the  children  all  at  school,  and  old  Lion 
stretched  lazily  on  the  mat  by  the  door ;  the  wil 
lows  turning  yellow,  the  flowers  fading,  and  the 
little  brook  swollen  almost  to  madness  by  the 
sudden  rain.  Then  suddenly  the  mill  stopped 
and  the  old  dog  fled  away  to  escort  father  up  to 
dinner,  whose  long  beautiful  letter  I  gave  him  to 
read  next ;  and  at  the  very  first  words,  "  My 
dear  first-born,  my  blessed  child,"  his  voice  fal 
tered,  and  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  his  own 
dear  father,  far,  far  over  the  seas  ;  and  when  he 
came  to  the  passage  urging  me  to  come  home 
and  stay,  my  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears  be 
fore  I  knew  it.  Indeed,  this  was  so  like  father 
that  I  could  see  every  look  on  his  smiling  face 
as  he  wrote  it :  — 


xviii  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

"  Have  no  fears,  my  child,  of  these  two  hands 
of  mine  being  tasked  too  much.  I  am  strong 
yet,  thank  God,  and  I  can  always  manage  to 
take  care  of  your  mother,  —  Heaven  bless  her  ! 
—  and  all  her  babies,  too,  though  they  be  John 
Rogers'  number." 

All  the  letters  were  just  so  dear  and  sweet  and 
beautiful.  Lynette's  came  last,  giving  all  the 
particulars  of  her  Commencement  composition, 
what  she  is  making  new  and  making  over  for 
the  next  term ;  Sarah  not  to  return,  Samuel's 
visit,  asked  consent,  and  so  on,  and  so  on,  until 
everything  in  and  around  "  Stone  cottage " 
shone  out  as  though  touched  off  by  the  pen  of  a 
Dickens.  Indeed,  I  could  hear  you  sing  and 
laugh  and  talk,  and  almost  hearken  to  the  whis 
pers  in  your  prayers,  so  minutely  every  want, 
every  hope,  and  every  fear  there  had  been 
named. 

When  at  last  we  arose  to  continue  our  walk, 
slipping  my  arm  in  his  again,  he  said :  — 

"  I  understand  now  why  you  are  so  silent  al 
ways  about  those  dear  ones  in  that  little  home : 
they  are  so  sacred  to  you  ;  and  I  do  not  wonder 
at  it,  for  if  I  might  presume  so  much,  I  love 
them  already  myself,  and,  please  God,  I  shall  see 
them  some  day."  But  what  more  he  said  to  me, 
sister  mine,  I  can  never  tell  you,  only  that  walk 
ing  along  these  breezy  shores  again  with  me  was 
more  dear  and  more  beautiful  to  him  than  all 
the  world  beside,  which  you  may  think  should 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xix 

be  taken  only  for  a  chivalrous  effort  to  please,  as 
I  was  inclined  to  regard  whatever  he  said  to  me 
at  first.  But  the  voices  of  love  are  not  always 
most  audible  in  words,  nor  its  smiles  plainest  seen 
in  open  visions  ;  and  I  know  now  that  sincerity 
glows  in  every  word  that  he  speaks.  It  is  all 
nonsense,  though,  and  no  use  talking  or  think 
ing  ;  for  his  worldly  shining  way  can  no  more 
be  mine  than  the  pale  moon  change  her  solemn 
march  through  the  clouds  for  that  of  the  gor 
geous  sun  blazing  through  the  heavens.  No, 
no,  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  remember 
the  words  that  went  down  with  dear  William 
into  his  grave,  and  learn  to  shelter  my  heart 
closer  behind  these  veils  that  the  angels,  doubt 
less,  dropped  before  my  eyes  only  the  safer  to 
lead  me  on  far  over  the  cross-bearing,  self-deny 
ing  way  that  God,  in  His  wisdom,  has  pointed 
out  for  me. 

Hark  !  is  that  the  crow  of  midnight  ?  Alas  !< 
f  I  could  talk  to  you  till  the  morning  comes  and 
then  leave  the  half  unsaid.  /But  I  have  an  en 
gagement  for  a  drive  along  the  Bay  before 
breakfast,  and  I  must  away  for  a  little  sleep. 
Oh  !  why  was  I  to  cross  the  path  of  this  noble- 
hearted  foreigner  here,  and  render  the  Institu 
tion  with  its  apologies  for  music  henceforth  so 
tasteless  and  drear  ?  Doubtless  because  at  every 
turn  in  life  there  must  always  be  two  ways 
opened  to  us  at  the  same  time,  the  one  to  be 
taken  and  the  other  to  be  left.  May  all  the 


XX  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

angels  in  heaven,  then,  help  me  to  keep  the  right 
one,  though  it  be  indeed  the  foreshadowed  way, 
and  a  thorn  in  every  step  of  it  beside ! 


NOVEMBER. 

You  have  felt  the  ominous  stillness  of  an 
autumn  morning  in  the  country  when  the  last 
bird  has  taken  wing  and  the  last  leaf  fallen  to 
the  ground.  That  is  noisy,  though,  compared 
to  the  solemn  silence  that  reigned  in  this  summer 
resort  after  the  hotels  were  closed,  the  cottages 
barred,  'and  the  last  carriage  wheels  had  rum 
bled  away  to  the  landing  for  reshipment  to  the 
city.  Then  this  little  detachment  of  a  Cure, 
perched  on  a  knoll  with  ever  diverging  walks 
the  trees  among,  began  to  seem  isolate  indeed ; 
and  when,  among  the  few  who  were  left,  the 
leading  spirit  (at  least  to  me)  pleaded  "  letters 
to  write  for  the  steamer  of  to-morrow,"  I  was 

glad  to  be  joined  by  Miss  M with  hat  in 

hand  for  a  walk. 

Descending  the  steps,  slipping  her  arm  around 
my  waist,  she  proposed  that  we  stroll  away  up 
the  Bay  and  lunch  that  day  at  a  little  cottage 
where  the  master  gathers  things  fresh  from  the 
sea,  while  the  mistress  prepares  them  in  every 
possible  way  for  visitors. 

"It  is  only  two  or  three  miles,"  she  urged, 
"  by  the  road,  and  following  up  the  beach  around 
the  hill  surely  cannot  more  than  double  the 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xxi 

distance.  Besides,  we  shall  have  the  lullaby  of 
the  waves  and  the  breezes  all  the  way,  and  we 
need  not  be  back  until  time  for  the  afternoon 
bath.  I  have  a  letter,  too,  from  the  Sandwich 
Islands  that  I  have  been  just  dying  to  read  you. 

H has  sailed,  and  will  be  in  New  York 

before  Christmas."  So  crossing  the  little  bridge 
that  led  down  to  the  water's  edge,  — 

"  This  is  the  end  of  the  second  month  with  an 
R  in  it,"  she  continued,  "  and  the  oysters  must 
be  just  splendid  now." 

"  Very  likely,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  have  never 
tasted  one,  and  doubt  very  much  if  I  should  like 
them.  Besides  "  — 

"  Besides  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why  !  they  are  the  { swine  of  the  sea,'  you 
know,  and  having  neither  scales  nor  fins  are 
forbidden." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Swine,  and 
forbidden  or  not,  everybody  eats  them  as  they 
do  bacon,  ham,  and  sausage." 

"  No,  not  everybody,"  I  said.  "  My  father  is 
over  fifty  years  old,  and  he  has  never  tasted  meat 
of  any  kind  save  fish,  and  possibly  a  little  fowl." 

"He  must  be  an  invalid,  then." 

"  You  would  hardly  think  so  to  see  him,"  I 
said,  laughing  —  "  six  feet  two,  loftily  propor 
tioned,  and  really  one  of  the  strongest  men  in 
the  world.  My  mother  is  far  from  small,  but  I 
have  seen  him  lift  her  with  a  babe  in  her  arms, 
and  take  her  upstairs  as  if  she  were  a  baby 
herself." 


xxii  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

"  But  you  take  meat,  do  you  not?  "  she  asked. 

"  Very  rarely,"  I  said,  "  and  only  two  of  my 
sisters  ever  touch  it." 

"  Pray,  what  do  you  all  live  on,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh !  fruit,  eggs,  milk,  and  everything  that 
grows  above  the  ground,  with  very  little  that 
grows  in  it." 

"  What  a  superstition  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh  !  no  superstition  at  all,"  I  insisted,  "  nor 
idea  as  to  the  right  or  wrong  of  it,  either.  It  is 
just  a  natural  dislike  or  indifference  to  animal 
food  —  that  is  all." 

"Then  this  meat-less,  tea-less,  coffee-less  diet 
at  the  Cure  has  been  costing  you  less  sacrifice 
than  the  rest  of  us  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  I  replied,  "  save  at  first  the 
lack  of  salt  and  other  seasonings." 

So,  what  with  discussing  dietetics  and  imagin 
ing  the  exact  to  here  upon  the  high  seas  the  home- 
bound  lover  might  then  be,  the  first  half  of  the 
way  was  passed  quickly.  The  remainder,  though, 
despite  the  waves  and  the  breezes,  proved  very, 
very  much  longer  than  we  thought,  and  it  must 
have  been  high  noon  before  the  cottage  with  its 
two  little  rooms  was  reached.  By  a  round  table 
in  the  front  our  repast  had  been  served,  when 

Miss  M bethought  her  of  taking  a  bowl  of 

oysters  to  her  friends  less  favored,  which  nearly 
doubled  our  stay  as  others  had  come  in  to  be 
served.  At  last,  though,  the  bowl  was  bargained 
for,  filled,  and  we  left ;  but  when  about  half  the 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xxiii 

way  back,  rounding  a  projection  into  the  Bay 
called  The  Point,  where  we  had  paused  on  our 

way  up  to  rest  and  read  the  letter,  Miss  M 

discovered  that  she  had  left  her  portemonnaie  on 
the  table ;  and  placing  the  bowl  on  the  ground, 
back  she  ran  to  recover  it.  But  the  way  was 
longer  th?r  before,  as  the  tide  had  already  begun 
to  set  in,  and  she  was  obliged  to  zigzag  her  way 
nearer  the  bank.  She  reached  the  place,  though, 
found  her  portemonnaie,  and  when  near  enough 
again  to  see  me,  lo  !  an  ocean  of  water  had  rolled 
between,  and  there  was  nothing-  left  but  to  re- 

7  O 

trace  her  steps,  climb  the  bank,  and  make  her 
way  along  the  rough  edge  of  it  to  where  I  was 
standing  many  feet  below,  only  to  find  that  the 
incoming  waves  on  the  other  side  had  cut  off  all 
possible  approach  to  me.  A  long  way  lay  between 
her  and  the  house,  yet,  all  out  of  breath,  she  ran 
until  she  encountered  the  noble  stranger  of  whom 
I  wrote  you  just  leaving  the  house  for  a  walk. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  to  reach  the  scene,  — 
which  was  well,  for  the  waves  were  already  dash 
ing  me  in  the  face,  and  fast  loosening  the  sands 
from  under  my  feet. 

One  lives  millenniums  in  moments  like  that ; 
and  after  recalling  all  the  past  and  reconciling 
myself  as  best  I  could  to  the  fate  that  seemed 
inevitable,  I  found  myself  drawing  comfort  from 
the  fact  that  all  the  scenes  of  that  strange  fore 
shadowing  at  L had  not  yet  been  passed ; 

and  as  a  last  touch  of  hope,  as  one  whispers  in 
thought,  I  said  :  — 


xxiv  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

"  No  ;  He  who  could  shut  away  the  brightness 
of  the  noonday,  bar  my  every  sense  to  the  outer 
world,  and  in  a  few  twinkling  seconds  trail  before 
my  spirit-eyes  the  long,  darkened  way  destined 
to  be  mine,  will  certainly  leave  no  part  of  it 
unfinished."  Then,  just  as  another  great  wave 
was  sweeping  back  into  the  sea  without  me,  two 
strong  hands  were  clasped  upon  my  shoulders, 
and  I  was  being  borne  out  into  the  deep  waters, 
I  hardly  knew  how.  At  last,  though,  the  shore 
was  reached,  and  I  was  saved.  Yes,  saved ; 
but  ah !  the  fates  try  us  hard  sometimes,  and  if 
you  can  believe  it,  I  was  saved  only  to  owe  my 
life  a  second  time  to  the  same  heroic  hand. 

A  little  later,  and  a  few  days  before  we  were 
all  to  leave,  the  cold  became  suddenly  so  intense 
that  fires  were  needed,  but  could  not  be  lighted, 
the  servants  said,  because  of  the  swallows  having 
so  blocked  the  chimneys  with  their  nests  that 
they  would  not  draw.  Still,  the  baths  were  taken 
as  usual,  and  warmth  sought  by  longer  and 
more  active  walks,  until  toward  evening,  on  our 
return,  we  were  surprised  to  find  all  the  doors 
and  windows  to  the  drawing-room  wide  open, 
and  the  long  curtains  fluttering  and  snapping  in 
the  winds  like  so  many  flags  to  a  ship.  The 
ladies  who  were  with  me  passed  directly  through 
to  the  main  hall  that  led  up  to  their  rooms  on 
the  opposite  side.  I  was  a  little  behind  them, 
and  before  reaching  the  door  I  felt  a  warm  glow 
come  on  my  cheek  as  from  a  fire ;  and  turning 


INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS.  xxv 

toward  it,  discovered  by  the  roar  that  one  had 
been  lighted  in  the  great  sheet-iron  stove  there. 
Going  out,  I  had  put  over  my  dress  a  thick  wad 
ded  wrapper,  which  as  I  stood  warming  my  hands 
over  the  stove  was  drawn  into  the  draught.  I 
felt  the  increase  of  heat  coming  up  into  my  face, 
and  was  stepping  back  a  little  just  as  my  gal 
lant  friend  was  crossing  the  threshold. 

"  God  of  heaven  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  all 
on  fire !  "  —  and  in  one  second  wrenched  the  great 
rug  from  under  the  two  forefeet  of  the  stove 
and  wrapped  it  around  me,  while  with  first  one 
hand  and  then  the  other,  he  pressed  out  and  beat 
out  the  flames  that,  fanned  by  the  winds,  were 
fast  creeping  over  my  waist  and  my  sleeves.  . 

With  the  portion  of  my  wrapper  not  covered 
by  the  rug  burning  to  ashes  over  my  feet,  it  was 
all  but  impossible  to  stay  them  to  the  floor  ;  but 
warned  by  the  words,  "  Move,  and  you  are  lost !  " 
never  was  statue  of  stone  more  wholly  inert; 
while  —  and  for  a  briefer  while  than  it  takes  to 
repeat  it  —  there  was  there  only  the  howling 
wind  and  God  and  fire,  save  the  shadow  of  him 
who  stood  highpriest  at  the  altar  of  flame,  sear 
ing  his  own  flesh  to  rescue  a  victim,  now  the 
second  time  wellnigh  snatched  from  his  grasp. 
Once,  twice,  two  starry  eyes  flashed  their  pitying 
liofht  into  the  dimness  of  mine,  while  two  lips 

o  p  * 

pressed  a  kiss  upon  my  brow,  that  neither  the 
tears  pain  was  wringing  from  my  eyes  then  nor 
the  tears  of  a  lifetime  could  suffice  to  erase. 


xxvi  INTRODUCTORY  EXTRACTS. 

No ;  when  a  thousand,  thousand  years  dead,  my 
soul  will  be  still  wearing  its  imprint  as  a  seal 
of  verity  that,  if  never  before,  and  if  never 
again,  for  that  one  moment  at  least  I  was  stand 
ing  so  far  within  the  heaven-lighted  temple  of 
Love  as  to  be  crowned  with  a  benediction  such 
only  as  love,  wrapped  in  the  supreme  of  pity, 
can  ever  bestow. 

The  first  to  witness  my  escape  from  drown 
ing  was  the  immense  dog  of  the  little  Cu 
ban,  who,  espying  my  deliverer's  hat  careering 
out  over  the  waves,  to  which  the  winds  had 
borne  it  down  from  where  it  was  thrown,  boldly 
plunged  into  the  waters  and  recovered  it;  but 
now  the  master  himself  was  the  first  to  appear, 
and  while  he  ran  to  every  place  but  the  right 
one  for  somebody  to  come,  the  sagacious  animal 
rendered  the  moments  more  terrifying,  if  possi 
ble,  by  the  horror  of  his  bark,  ending  with  howls 
of  distress  that  finally  brought  even  the  ladies 
back  who  had  entered  with  me. 

Although  much  of  my  clothing  was  charred 
to  cinder,  aside  from  the  scorches  on  my  arms 
and  hands  and  the  blisters  that  covered  my 
feet,  again  I  was  saved. 

The  fates,  though,  love  euphony,  that  you 
know  requires  always  a  third ;  and  pre-drama- 
tized  as  my  whole  stay  here  seems  to  have  been, 
pray,  what  is  the  next  or  last  scene  of  it  to  be  ? 


MORTARA. 


PART  I. 

NEW  YORK,  March  7,  1849. 

MORTARA,  —  But  for  these  far-away  flowers, 
still  whispering  of  the  orange  groves  and  balmy 
breezes  whence  they  came,  I  might  mistake  your 
letter  for  a  delightful  continuation  of  our  last 
walk  among  those  grand  old  trees  by  the  Bay, 
when  it  seemed  that  the  world  itself,  by  some 
strange  turn,  had  drifted  around  on  a  side  that 
looked  away  toward  heaven,  and  all  of  life  had 
purpled  into  a  dream  too  rich  and  too  beautiful 
to  last ;  when  time,  even,  grew  prodigal  and  sped 
the  moments  on  golden  wings  as  arm  in  arm  we 
rustled  through  the  falling  leaves,  rainbow-hued 
from  the  Tyrian  dyes  of  autumn. 

Ah  !  that  morning,  who  can  imagine  it  ?  and 
that  walk,  who  can  recall  it?  until,  returning, 
we  paused  a  little  by  the  gate  and  one  came 
running  with  those  long-waited-for  letters  from 
your  home  beyond  the  sea. 

"  One  is  from  my  father,"  you  said ;  and  so, 
excusing  yourself,  you  went  to  your  room.  My 
quick  ear  followed  your  tread,  heard  you  lock 
the  door,  and  I  knew  that  you  were  alone  with 


28  MORTARA. 

the  joys  and  sorrows  of  far-off  loved  ones  break 
ing  in  saddened  sweetness  upon  your  exile  heart. 

Hurrying  away  from  lunch  that  day  I  did  not 
stop  in  the  drawing-room  as  usual,  wondering  if, 
after  having  been  so  long  oblivious  to  all  around 
you,  my  humble  self  would  ever  be  sought  for 
or  remembered  again.  Soon,  though,  a  valet 
came  with  your  card.  Meeting  me  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  you  said  :  — 

"  Would  you  like  to  climb  the  big  hill  this 
afternoon,  or  Mount  Pisgah,  as  you  call  it  ?  " 

"  Providing  you  will  promise  to  spy  out  a 
Canaan  for  me  there,"  I  replied. 

"  Or  one  for  myself,  —  would  not  that  do  as 
well?"  was  your  quick  rejoinder. 

So,  jocund  and  lively,  we  started  ;  but  on  the 
way  and  after  reaching  the  summit  you  were 
taciturn,  as  I  thought,  or  too  reflective,  consid 
ering  that  you  had  invited  me  to  walk  with  you. 
I  had  asked  for  all  your  home  friends,  of  whom 
you  seemed  inclined  to  say  little ;  and  then, 
yielding  to  your  spell,  I  too  grew  silent,  and 
leaning  my  head  back  against  the  tree  beneath 
whose  shade  we  were  sitting,  I  sought  solace  for 
the  gorgeous  scenes  that  lay  around  me  by  pic 
turing  brighter  ones  in  heaven,  and  wondering  if 
two  dear  eyes  there  were  looking  on  me.  Un 
conscious  before  how  much  the  last  few  weeks 
had  done  to  fade  the  memory  of  those  t\vo  dear 
eyes  from  my  heart,  I  was  just  beginning  to  re 
proach  myself  when  very  slowly  and  very  sol 
emnly  you  said  :  — 


MORTARA.  29 

"  No  one  has  a  right  to  count  himself  miser 
able  who  has  not  felt  to  his  heart's  core  the 
branding  sting  of  banishment.  Then  he  may 
indeed  pity  Cain,  and  know  at  least  how  to  sym 
pathize  with  Satan  himself.  Exiled  for  the  boy 
ish  offense  of  refusing  to  bear  arms  against  the 
land  of  my  mother,  my  friends  were  at  first  san 
guine  of  procuring  my  return.  Seventeen  long 
years,  though,  have  rolled  away  since  that  hope 
died  from  my  soul,  and  I  have  since  lived  with 
the  sole  idea  of  amassing  a  fortune  sufficient  to 
bring  my  entire  family  and  all  my  friends  out  of 
the  country,  and  hold  jubilee  with  them  for  at 
least  six  months  or  a  year.  But  these  letters  to 
day  bring  me  word  that  my  mother  has  become 
too  feeble  and  my  father  too  old  and  infirm  even 
to  journey  to  the  line  to  meet  me."  Then,  paus 
ing  a  moment  as  if  reflecting  upon  your  disap 
pointment,  you  turned  full  around  to  me  and 
continued  :  — 

"  Yes,  please  God,  this  is  henceforth  to  be  my 
country  and  my  home  ;  and  will  you,  dearest, 
can  you,  be  all  to  me  on  this  side  of  the  world  ? 
I  do  not  know  when  I  began  to  love  you,  or  how. 
I  seem  born  to  love  you,  to  protect  you,  to  care 
for  you,  and  call  you  mine,  and  next  to  the  pain 
of  beholding  my  beloved  parents  no  more  is  the 
thought  of  going  away  from  here  without  you. 
I  came  back  from  New  York  ostensibly  to  await 
these  letters,  but  in  truth  I  returned  only  to  pass 
a  little  time  more  with  you,  and  then,  perhaps, 


30  MORTARA. 

take  you  away  with  me  to  Europe,  and  after 
meeting  my  friends,  go  to  see  Waltholl  of  Ger 
many,  and  make  him  unveil  the  world  again  to 
those  dear  eyes  of  yours,  —  not  that  for  the  world 
I  would  ever  wish  myself  to  be  less  needful  to 
your  happiness  than  now,  while  certainly  noth 
ing  in  the  world  could  ever  make  you  more  pre 
cious  or  more  beautiful  to  me." 

Oh  !  how  near  heaven  comes  to  us  sometimes. 
That  peaceful  hill,  crowned  with  evergreens  and 
oaks,  sung  to  forever  by  the  breezes  and  man 
tled  in  sunshine,  was  Pisgah  indeed ;  and  lo  ! 
through  the  rifted  clouds  there  came  to  me  a 
very  angel,  bearing  in  his  Abrahamic  bosom  the 
Canaan  of  rest,  of  home  and  peace  and  love, 
that  my  poor  tired  heart  had  longed  for,  ached 
for,  and  wept  for,  but  never  dared  to  hope  for. 

Ah  !  Mortara,  I  almost  wonder  now  that  I  did 
not  fall  down  and  worship  you  outright  when, 
with  vour  voice  still  falterino;  from  bidding  adieu 

•J  O  O 

to  your  long-cherished  hope,  you  pledged  to  me 
not  only  the  blessed  largess  of  my  soul's  other, 
nobler  self,  but  restored  to  me  again  my  poor, 
broken,  lost  self,  all  radiant  and  new-born  in  the 
light  of  your  love.  Verily,  were  the  past  a  des 
ert  and  the  future  a  tomb,  that  one  memory 
were  an  oasis  green  and  sunny  enough  to  make 
it  all  an  Eden  ;  for  what  mattered  it  to  me  then 
though  mine  eyes  were  veiled  ?  I  had  won  you, 
than  whom  none  wiser  or  nobler  or  more  elegant 
walks  the  world,  and  away,  too,  from  the  brilliant 


MORTARA.  31 

many.  It  was  enough ;  and  listen  to  me,  Mor- 
tara,  from  that  moment,  from  that  golden  hour 
that  still  spreads  its  autumn  radiance  through  all 
my  being,  I  have  held  you  and  your  love  only 
as  one  holds  a  solemn  trust  that  may  be  re 
manded  at  any  time. 

All  hope  of  any  permanent  provision  being 
made  for  me  has  passed  away.  Those  who  would 
serve  me  have  not  the  means,  and  those  who 
could  are  robbed  of  the  will,  —  perhaps  by  some 
wise  angel  who  sees  it  better  that  I  be  not  over- 
blessed.  Judge,  then,  how  well  I  know  the 
worth  of  these  words  from  your  far-away  cabin, 
as  you  call  it :  — 

"  I  ask  only  the  happiness  of  bringing  you 
here  and  living  for  you  and  you  alone  ;  "  but, 
dearest  Mortara,  whatever  comes,  I  can  neither 
be  yours  nor  allow  you  to  befriend  me.  Indeed, 
by  the  very  greatness  of  some  blessings,  our 
hearts  are  made  to  know  that  they  are  not  in 
tended  for  us,  but  sent  only  that  we  may  look 
on  them  and  learn  self-denial. 

You  will  be  angry,  but  oh  !  chide  me  gently, 
for  my  heart  is  a  bruised  thing,  and  but  for 
your  letter  to-day  my  every  thought  were  man 
tled  with  despair.  /Since  it  came  I  have  been 
walking  and  thinking  of  you  until  this  whole 
place  has  grown  warm  and  beautifuljii_thejight 
of  your  loving  presence,  while"m""tneheavy  beat 
ing  of  the  winds  /I  hear  again  the  roar  of  the 
waves  and  above  them  the  words  :  — 


ill 


32  MORTAR  A. 

"  Cling  to  me  ;  I  shall  save  you  or  die  with 

you!" 

Oh,  thou  dearest,  bravest,  noblest,  and  best, 
how  can  I  ever  forget  that  terrible  scene  ?  And 
when  at  last  the  shore  was  reached  and  you  lay 
there,  your  great  heart  panting  for  the  life 'you 
had  well-nigh  given  to  save  mine,  what  agony  I 
endured  rubbing  those  cold,  dear  hands  and 
bathing  them  with  my  tears,  praying  you  to 
live,  to  awaken  and  speak  to  me  but  once  more ! 

Alas !  my  generous  friend,  what  do  I  not  owe 
you  ?  My  life  and  my  heart  surely.  But  though 
I  had  them  and  a  thousand  times  more  to  be 
stow,  I  should  still  chide  you  for  the  doubts  you 
persist  in  conjuring  from  that  one  little  incident 
that  so  marred  our  last  evening  together  and  did 
me  such  infinite  wrong.  Suppose  you  were  about 
to  confide  the  one  great  secret  of  your  life  to  my 
keeping  and  ask  me  again  to  go  with  you.  I 
did  not  know  your  thoughts,  or  your  intentions, 
although  as  if  divining  and  answering  them  all  I 
was  just  saying  to  myself  :  "  It  may  not,  cannot 
be,"  and  instinctively  withdrew  my  hand  from 
yours  and  folded  my  arms  across  my  breast,  as  if 
in  all  the  dark  world  there  was  left  only  me. 
But  when  you  turned  and  almost  commanded 
me  to  explain  the  feeling,  or  the  action,  I  wept, 
because  it  was  just  so  much  more  than  I  could 
bear.  My  heart  was  too  full,  and  the  jostled 
tears  rained  down  over  my  cheeks  while  you 
were  cruel  enough  to  neither  let  me  hide  them 
nor  wipe  them  away. 


MORTAR  A.  33 

Dear,  noble  Mortara,  believe  me,  it  was  no 
thought  of  another  nor  doubt  nor  fear  of  you, 
whom  I  have  tried  so  much  not  to  love.  I  do 
love  you,  though,  and  now  that  you  are  so  far 
away  and  I  am  writing  you  with  my  own  hand, 
I  do  not  blush  to  tell  you  so.  Indeed,  as  two 
streams  cannot  flow  in  the  same  channel  but  the 
larger  swallows  up  the  lesser,  so  all  the  love  my 
heart  has  ever  known  now  winds  and  murmurs 
its  music  to  you  ;  and  while  I  would  be  generous 
enough  to  judge  as  I  would  be  judged,  a  con 
scious  lack  of  power  to  win  and  hold  the  love  of 
one  who  has  seen  so  much  of  the  world  and 
waded  through  the  adoring  glances  of  so  many 
makes  me  fear  lest,  in  my  all-confiding  and  all- 
trusting  simplicity,  you  find  only  solace  for  the 
loved  and  the  lost.  Is  it  so,  or  do  I  perchance 
owe  all  to  your  large  pity  that,  like  the  mantle 
of  generous  Boaz,  expanded  and  wrapped  me  in 
the  moment  we  met  ? 

The  angels,  though,  do  not  hold  out  their 
hands  to  us  longer  than  all  day  long,  and  lest  I 
weary  and  turn  away  the  only  real  one  Heaven 
has  vouchsafed  me,  I  hasten,  dearest,  noblest 
Mortara,  to  say  to  thee,  as  ever,  Dominus  tecum, 
while  I  pray  thee  once  more  to  write  soon  and 
come  soon  to  Thy  ever  more  than  friend, 

HELEN. 

3 


34  MORTAR  A. 


NEW  YORK,  April  7,  1849. 

MORTARA,  —  Madam  S read  me  the  thick 

sheet  of  your  letter,  and  I  replied  to  it  as  usual 
in  her  room,  she  often  coming  to  look  over  my 
shoulder.  But  the  thin  one,  designed  for  my 
heart  alone,  I  reserved  until  Benoni  came  up  last 
evening  to  take  me  to  the  opera  and  lent  me  his 
eyes  for  its  precious  perusal ;  and  then  again 
when  we  returned,  as  a  kind  of  encore  to  my 
Salva,  that  his  sweet  strains  might  follow  me 
into  the  dream-land  ! 

Some  good  fairy  must  have  visited  your  cabin, 
and,  charmed  with  its  occupant,  turned  it  into  a 
castle,  since  it  can  afford  to  set  apart  two  such 
rooms  for  an  imaginary  guest  and  a  dark  maid 
to  drape  them  with  flowers  in  compliment  to  her 
fancied  coming  ! 

Oh  !  tell  me,  Mortara,  do  you  really  love  me 
so,  and  am  I  indeed  so  verily  with  you  ?  Your 
great  heart,  running  over  with  that  beautiful 
benignity  that  always  warms  in  your  words  and 
melts  from  your  eyes,  makes  your  cabin  or  castle, 
whatever  it  be,  seem  to  me  nothing  less  than  a 
little  city  of  refuge  from  the  world.  Were  I  to 
rise  up  and  fly  to  it,  though,  I  should  doubtless 
meet  on  the  way,  or  far  down  by  the  gate,  some 
angel  of  destiny  with  flaming  sword  turning 


MORTARA.  35 

every  way ;  for  alas !  Mortara,  what  you  dream 
of  can  never,  never  be.  No,  like  a  planet 
wrapped  in  the  meshes  of  a  distant  star,  I  am 
forever  chained  from  thee ;  and  though  thy 
black  eyes  be  windows  to  love's  happy  Eden, 
still  I  may  never  look  into  them  ;  and  though 
thine  arms  be  indeed  belts  of  gold  and  thyself  a 
pillar  of  trust,  still  thy  way  is  not  my  way.  Ah, 
no,  Mortara,  in  heaven  I  were  nearer  thee  than 
now.  As  the  stars  cross  paths,  so  from  half  a 
world  away  we  have  met  and  whispered  words  of 
love  only  for  landmarks  to  our  souls,  forever 
seeking  each  other  and  God  and  the  true. 

You  seem  always  half  glad  for  the  rough 
ways  of  life  that  you  may  help  to  bear  some  one 
over  them.  /What  wonder,  then,  that  my  weak 
soul  should 'be  forever  longing  to  flee  away  and 
take  shelter  beneath  the  wings  of  thvmight 
But  oh,  Mortara,  if  there  were  no  otheroBsta- 
cle,  I  could  not  be  selfish  enough  to  sombre  all 
that  should  bring  gladness  to  thee  by  Jinking 
the  clouds  of  my  sky  to  the  sunshine  ^fjjiine. 
And  yet,  when  I  remember  that  unlooked-for 
coming  in  of  the  tide  when  you  so  nobly  risked 
life  and  all  to  save  me,  and  again  when  you 
blistered  those  dear  hands  to  save  me  from  fire, 
I  can  only  shut  mine  eyes  and  weep  tears  that  I 
have  not  a  hand  like  Providence  to  weigh  out 
blessing1  to  thee  forever,  forever  ! 

O  .^ 

l>ut  wait  until  you  have  visited  R .     Per 
haps  you  will  find  there  that  the  angels  have  at 


36  MORTARA. 

least  let  me  turn  your  steps  toward  the  beautiful 
and  the  good.  Wait  until  you  have  seen  iny 
fascinating  friend  Elenore  ;  if  herself  fails  to 
charm  you,  her  music  surely  will.  Therefore, 
be  sure  to  see  her  ;  and  if  you  are  not  less  gal 
lant  than  I  imagine,  like  Anthony  at  the  banquet 
of  Cleopatra,  you  will  at  least  offer  your  heart 
for  what  your  eyes  do  feast  on  ! 

Madam  S is  too  lynx-eyed  and  too  all-per 
vading  not  to  have  divined  the  struggle  going 
on  in  my  soul;  and  true  to  her  avowed  penchant 
for  torture,  she  delights  in  telling  me  over  and 
over  how  perfectly  you  and  Miss  Elenore  are 
fitted  for  each  other ;  even  talks  of  your  wed 
ding,  and  seems  to  have  put  it  all  down  in  her 
own  mind  as  a  settled  thing.  Well,  Miss  Elenore 
is  brilliant  and  beautiful,  surely ;  and  you,  — 
ah  !  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  noble  and  wise  and 
good  enough  to  have  been  the  prophet  seer  at 
the  gates  of  Zuph ;  which  you  were  verily  to  me 
from  the  day  of  my  entrance  into  that  rosy  glen 
by  the  sea,  where,  whether  we  walked,  rode,  or 
climbed  the  hills  together,  followed  up  the  brooks 
or  gathered  shells  by  the  sea,  rowed  our  little 
bark  out  upon  the  waves  or  drifted  along  the 
murmuring  shore,  every  day,  every  hour  was  to 
my  soul  but  a  fresh  anointing  from  the  store 
houses  of  your  knowledge.  Indeed,  hanging 
upon  your  eloquent  lips  I  followed  you  over  all 
lands,  lingering  now  at  one  court  and  now  at 
another ;  now  treading  along  the  art  galleries 


MORTARA.  37 

of  Wurtemberg,  Berlin,  Paris,  Milan,  Rome,  and 
then  away  across  the  deserts  to  the  beautiful 
Orient  and  the  land  of  your  fathers,  whose  Tem 
ple  alone  filled  the  world  with  its  sacred  gran 
deur  and  emblazoned  all  time  with  its  holy 
splendors ;  until  at  last,  all  unaware,  I  sat  com 
muning  with  you  up  in  the  high  places  and 
breaking  spirit  bread  with  you  upon  the  very 
house-tops  of  your  love.  What  God  would  have 
He  paves  the  way  to ;  and  I  needed  just  that 
beautiful  overlooking  of  the  world  through  your 
eyes,  and  j  List  ^his  new  strength  in  my  soul  that 
loving  you  has  given  me,  as  a  kind  of  renuncia 
tory  blessing  for  the  cold,  isolate  life  that  lies 
before  me.  / 

Dear,  noble  Mortara,  I  have  never  had  cour 
age  to  tell  you  how  I  know  that  our  paths  are 
never  to  be  joined  ;  yet  I  do  know  that  the  lines 
of  my  destiny  have  fallen  too  dark  among  the 
shadows  for  any  one  this  side  of  heaven  to  bear 
me  company  through  them. 

f  I  must  make  the  journey  sad  and  alone  ;  and 
yet,  dearest,  not  all  alone,  for  wherever  I  go  or 
whatever  my  lot  is  thou  wilt  be  to  me  forever,  as 
now,  —  though  remote,  yet  never  gone  ;  though 
distant,  yet  always  nearJ^Alas  !  I  have  come  to 
say  my  prayers,  even,  with  my  soul  mantled  in 
your  love,  and  my  thoughts  commune  with  the 
angels  in  words  that  I  have  learned  from  your 
lips.  Indeed,  you  are  a  part  of  me,  my  other, 
dearer,  nobler  self,  and  I  can  never,  never, 


38  MORTAR  A. 

never  for  one  moment  separate  you  from  my 
thoughts,  or  ever,  ever,  ever  tear  your  memory 
from  my  heartj/over  which  I  have  set  up  your 
promise  to  be  here  soon  like  a  bow  of  promise, 
watery  with  tears  and  purple  with  gladness. 
New  York,  though,  is  neither  New  Orleans  nor 
Havana,  both  of  which  Benoni  says  you  are  to 
take  in  your  way,  and  I  fear  you  will  find  it 
dull  here  as  well  as  cold  ;  but  oh !  I  am  here, 
and  when  you  come  my  heart  will  be  here  too, 
and  summer  and  flowers,  love  and  gladness,  all 
of  which  follow  in  thy  train,  as  I  pray  sweet 
Candida  pax  to  attend  thee,  and  white-winged 
angels  to  stand  forever  thy  watchful  guard  ! 

HELEN. 


MORTARA.  39 


STONE  COTTAGE,  July  17,  1849. 

MORTARA,  —  While  the  east  is  kindling  with 
coming  light  and  the  dews  are  heavy  on  the 
mown  grass,  I  have  hurried  me  from  happy 
dreams  to  bid  you  hasten  to  this  sunny  vale  of 
meadows  and  groves  where  simply  to  Jive  is  bless 
ing  enough  for  all  the  day  long,  and  at  eve  we 
will  rock  away  upon  the  river  or  follow  up  its 
winding  way,  treading  on  the  soft  shadows  of 
nightfall  that  come  to  sleep  among  the  bushes 
and  the  flowers. 

You  entreat  me  to  nevermore  freeze  you  with 
the  word  friend ;  but  oh !  how  talk  to  thee  of 
love  while  to  call  thee  friend  is  happiness  so 
great  ?  Yet  think  not  that  I  doubt  you,  for, 
Mortara,  I  doubt  nothing  save  my  ability  to 
make  you  happy. 

("Confidence  is  a  plant  of  rapid  growth  when 
watered  by  the  tears  and  dews  of  love^)  Beside, 
many  moons  have  come  and  waned  and  all  the 
seasons  have  changed  since  our  friendship  be 
gan,  and  by  the  light  of  the  past  we  should 
surely  judge  something  of  the  future.  But  oh  ! 
is  it  in  man's  nature,  is  it  in  his  love,  to  be  al 
ways  thus  unselfish  and  thus  devoted  ?  Might 
there  not  come  days  when  the  heart's  dial  would 
turn  too  slowly  and  the  hours  hang  too  wearily  ? 


40  MOETARA. 

Tell  me,  thou  dearest,  noblest,  and  best ;  thou 
temple,  priest,  and  oracle,  speak  and  I  will  trust 
thee  !  Where  thou  art  not,  loneliness  is  in  thy 
place  ;  no  voice  like  thine,  no  arm  so  dear  ;  and 
as  the  day  makes  us  forget  the  night,  so  thou 
drivest  all  gloom  from  my  thoughts. 

CYet,   dearest,  loving  thee   is   selfish,  and  my 
art  chides   the  love  it  cannot  help.     I  could 
leave  all  for  thee,  but  oh !  leaving  all  I  should 
leave  thee  too£for  they  who  forsake  duty  may 
take  no  good  thing  with  theni^J" 

Adas !  Mortara,  even  at  the  risk  of  your  ridi 
cule,  I  must  tell  you  that  five  summers  ago,  sit 
ting  amid  the  dazzling  beams  of  the  sun,  and 
every  thought  broad  awake  with  the  stirring  ex 
citements  of  school,  a  kind  of  hallucination  or 
momentary  vision  passed  before  me,  wherein  I 
myself  saw  myself  journeying  through  what 
seemed  ages  upon  ages  of  darkness,  —  darkness 
that  blotted  away  everything  and  then  took  on  a 
shape  of  its  own  that  rose  up  before  me  like  an 
old  time-worn  Cheops,  only  a  million  times  more 
vast,  stretching  its  top  away  into  the  blackness 
of  the  sky,  while  its  base  rested  dark  on  the 
earth  and  filled  me  with  an  indescribable  fear. 
Still,  impelled  by  an  influence  that  I  could  not 
resist,  I  steadily  approached  the  forbidding  pres 
ence  and  found  countless  little  circles  of  gold 
shining  through  its  gloomy  surface.  Only  their 
tiny  creased  edges  were  visible  ;  yet  moved  by 
the  same  impelling  force  that  had  brought  me 


MORTAR  A.  41 

within  their  reach,  very  timidly  I  fell  to  picking; 
them  out  with  one  hand  and  dropping  them  into 
the  other.  Slowly,  one  by  one,  I  was  picking 
them  out  with  the  right  hand  and  dropping 
them  into  the  left,  when  straightway  all  sweet 
plans  for  the  dear  ones  in  this  cottage  home 
began  to  run  through  my  thoughts,  and,  as  it 
seemed,  absorbed  the  gold,  or  bore  away  the 
shining  little  pieces  from  my  hands  almost  faster 
than  I  was  able  to  gather  them.  So  on,  on, 
through  what  seemed  weary  ages,  I  myself  saw 
myself  patiently  gathering,  gathering,  but  never 
possessing.  Always  moving,  too,  or  going,  going, 
as  it  seemed,  with  the  same  old  overawing,  world- 
like  presence  forever  bent  above  and  around, 
until  all  at  once  the  gold  ceased  on  the  side  of  it 
toward  me,  and  in  its  stead  came  quantities  of  a 
dark  green  material  in  lumps,  rolls,  or  bunches 
that  only  possession,  or  taking  in  my  hands,  made 
golden.  Of  that,  too,  I  gathered  as  before,  gath 
ered,  gathered,  wandered,  toiled,  and  gathered, 
until  at  last  the  dark  green  material  also  disap 
peared,  the  base  only  whence  it  rose  remaining 
green  —  when  farther  in  toward  the  heart  of  the 
gloomy  old  presence  the  gold  shone  out  again  ; 
but  this  time,  instead  of  shining  little  pieces  as 
at  first,  it  came  in  squares  like  tablets  or  slates, 
standing  on  their  edges  and  so  tightly  wedged 
together  that  it  seemed  impossible  ever  to  move 
them.  Yet  I  touched  them  and  they  came  out  to 
me  ;  myself  seemed  to  draw  them  as  by  a  kind  of 


42  MORTAR  A. 

right,  and  whereas  all  before  had  merely  passed 
through  my  hands,  now  all  remained  with  me  ; 
and  when  I  had  folded  in  my  arms  as  much  as  I 
could  well  carry,  with  something  like  the  pride 
of  possession  warming  in  my  thoughts,  I  jour 
neyed  on,  on  again ;  but  in  a  new  direction  now 
and  faster  than  before,  the  old  overawing  shape 
the  darkness  had  taken  on  no  longer  keeping- 
pace.  Finally,  reaching  a  height  that  seemed  to 
overlook  the  future  as  well  as  the  past,  I  espied 
far  out  in  the  distance  a  break  in  the  great  dome 
of  night,  and  thence  a  little  wave  of  soft  sweet 
light  rolling  toward  me.  Faster  it  came  and 
larger  it  grew,  spreading  out  upon  the  fleeing 
clouds  until  it  seemed  that  heaven  itself  had 
opened,  and  all  its  glories  were  beaming  above 
and  around  me.  Then  I  turned  and  saw  one 
standing  apart  with  downcast  eyes,  and  of  face 
and  mien  such  as  I  had  never  looked  on,  —  one 
who  made  no  sign,  spoke  no  word,  his  knowledge 
of  or  companionship  to  the  long  dark  way  I  had 
been  coming  seeming  rather  self -conveyed,  where 
at  the  vision  ended  and  all  was  the  same  to  me 
as  before. 

Now  call  it  a  vision,  or  call  it  what  you  will, 
in  the  few  twinkling  seconds  of  its  duration, 
with  every  sense  barred  to  the  outer  world,  led 
by  some  unknown  law  of  our  being,  I  was  away, 
away,  following  down  the  deep-drawn  lines  to 
my  own  destiny.  Look !  hardly  two  years  had 
elapsed  when  Death  robbed  my  young  life  deso- 


MORTAR  A.  43 

late,  and  over  the  new-made  grave  by  which  I 
stood  and  mourned  a  moon  rose  swift  upon  my 
sky  that  was  to  watch  even  itself  turned  into 
blackness ;  and  ere  it  waned  I  awoke  but  to  find 
the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  indeed  gone  down  for 
ever,  and  the  clouds  of  a  relentless  night  fallen 
cold  and  thick  around  me. 

Thus  on  the  great  clock  of  fate  my  destiny 
had  been  marked,  exactly  as  foreshadowed  to  me 
in  the  vision  whose  haunting  shades  I  have  in 
voked  until  nearly  every  phase  of  it  has  unveiled 
to  my  soul  its  fullest  meaning. 

First,  the  everywhere  towering  old  pillar-like 
presence,  that  might  have  been  let  down  from 
the  clouds  or  piled  up  from  the  ages  of  the  ages, 
was  but  a  gloomy  symbol  of  the  world,  or  what 
the  world  was  to  be  to  me  in  the  darkness,  —  an 
everywhere  towering,  forbidding  presence,  just 
as  I  have  found  it ;  and  all  the  more  towering 
and  forbidding,  too,  because  of  the  gold  shining 
so  dimly  through  its  gloomy  surface. 

In  God's  own  good  time,  though,  those  mystic 
little  circles  will  not  only  appear,  but  the  means 
for  gathering  them  also  be  provided  ;  and ,  pos 
sibly  the  little  book  that  I  wrote  you  about  is 
to  have  something  to  do  with  it.  Do  you  see  ? 
Although  no  Aladdin  lamp  to  the  world,  it  may 
still  prove  to  my  hand  the  coveted,  wand-like 
"  Open  Sesame  !  "  At  all  events,  as  the  dark 
ness  of  the  vision  and  the  two  scenes  preceding 
it  have  so  strangely  come  to  pass,  so  all  that 


44  MORTARA. 

seemed  to  grow  out  of  them  is  to  be  translated 
in  the  sternest  reality  upon  the  years  of  my  life. 
I  know  it,  I  see  it,  and  when  I  have  explained  to 
you  the  nature  of  those  plans  that  ran  so  mys 
tically  through  my  thoughts  and  absorbed  the 
little  golden  pieces  almost  faster  than  I  was  able 
to  gather  them,  you  will  be  convinced  that,  al 
though  "a  day  of  no  open  vision,"  there  must 
be  still  those  in  heaven  mighty  enough  to  trail 
before  mortal  eyes  shadows  of  the  events  them 
selves  are  forging. 

But  oh !  would  that  you  or  some  one  might 
turn  seer  indeed,  and  divine  to  my  longing  soul 
the  closing  scene,  when  the  heavens  opened  and 
all  their  pent-up  glories  broke  again  upon  my 
enraptured  soul.  Yes,  where,  oh,  where  in  all 
the  dark  confines  of  time  sleeps  that  dawn  for 
me  ?  or  must  I  indeed  look  for  it  beyond  the  sun 
set  and  beyond  the  shadows  ?  Alas  !  God  only 
knows. 

But,  Mortara,  thou  noblest  and  best,  whatever 
that  vision  was,  after  having  lived  it  over  and 
over  in  my  thoughts  and  traced  and  retraced 
through  it  my  dark  foreshadowed  way,  I  know 
that  the  angels  have  placed  this  in  their  books 
even  as  they  have  bottled  my  tears :  in  this 
world  we  are  never  to  be  one ;  no,  never,  never, 
never.  What  is  to  be  no  hand  may  stay,  and 
despite  the  veiled  eyes  and  the  helplessness  that 
now  girts  me  around,  there  is  a  foreshadowed 
something  in  the  world  for  me  to  do,  —  a  some- 


MORTAR  A.  45 

thing  that  will  take  long,  long  years,  —  years  of 
loneliness  and  weariness  and  anxiety,  and  ere  my 
work  is  done  I  shall  be  no  more  what  I  am. 

Here,  then,  waiting  to  meet  thee,  I  part  with 
thee,  as  in  this  life  I  have  parted  from  ah1  bright 
things  ;  parted  from  them,  alas  !  only  the 
brighter  to  bear  them  on  in  my  thoughts,  just 
as  in  the  soul's  beautiful  ideal  the  star  of  thy 
love  will  be  forever  rising  over  my  heart  and 
shedding  its  pale  light  along  the  lonely  future. 

HELEN. 


PART   II. 

NEW  YORK,  December  4,  1849. 

MORTARA,  —  Oh,  tell  me,  did  I  then  after  all 
promise  to  be  thine,  thine,  all  thine,  forever 
thine  ?  Ah  !  how  memory  reproaches  while  my 
poor  heart  coaxes  fear  to  silence. 

But,  mine  own  beautiful  and  best,  you  will 
surely  wait  for  me  the  two  years,  or  until  the 
love-work  foreshadowed  in  the  vision  is  ended. 
That  lies  next  to  my  hope  of  heaven,  and  you 
must  surely  leave  me  to  accomplish  it.  Not  even 
if  you  could  furnish  the  means  to  effect  the  same 
end  would  it  be  the  same  thing'  to  me.  No,  I 
must  live  for  it,  toil  for  it,  and  pray  for  it,  and 
so  do  at  least  a  part  of  what  they  who  watch  in 
heaven  have  called  me  to  do ;  and  then,  dearest, 
noblest  Mortara,  may  our  Heavenly  Father  for 
give  the  rest  while  I  go  to  be  happy  with  love 
and  thee,  happy  with  the  one  being  in  the  world 
whose  radiant  image  lies  glassed  so  deep  in  my 
soul  that,  whether  dreaming  or  waking,  by  the 
star  of  love  I  forever  behold  him  there  ! 

It  was  weakness,  I  know  ;  but  in  that  awful 
moment  when  you  held  the  world  in  such  fright 
ful  array  on  the  one  hand,  and  yourself,  your 
love,  your  devotion,  and  your  dear  open  arms  on 
the  other,  it  was  just  as  impossible  not  to  fly  to 


48  MORTAR  A. 

you  as  it  is  always  impossible  not  to  love  you. 
The  angels  witnessed  our  pledges  and  wrote  them 
down,  mayhap  with  smiles  and  mayhap  with 
tears  —  God  only  knows.  You  have  two  years, 
though,  to  take  back  your  part  of  them  in  if  you 
choose,  and  certainly  no  one  in  heaven  or  out  of 
it  could  have  the  hardihood  to  blame  you, 

I  have  received  the  ring  set  with  a  star  and 
covering  the  words  :  "  Speravi  in  te  ;  "  and 
while  my  heart  chides  me  I  wear  it,  dearest,  the 
rich  covenant  of  thy  love,  and  would  I  could  cir 
cle  thy  life  in  a  sky  as  starry  and  as  golden  ! 
Would  for  one  hour,  even,  I  might  round  such 
brightness  upon  thy  way  as  thou  thyself  bringest 
to  me  !  Thou  art  the  Sun,  with  my  Venus  heart 
transiting  about  thee.  Thou  the  star,  with  my 
soul  empaled  upon  the  shining  disc  of  thy  love, 
the  where  thy  smiles  make  the  morning,  and  thy 
whispers  and  thy  kisses  dewy  evenings,  rosy  and 
star-lighted  like  visions  in  love's  happy  dreams. 

fNow  I  forgive  the  angels  the  hiding  away  of 
the  day  since,  themselves  guiding,  they  brought 
me  to  tfeee^  But  alas !  how  ever  repay  the 
wealth  of  thy  love?  What  vial  add  to  the 
stream  of  thy  happiness,  what  care  lift  from  thy 
heart,  or  what  burden  help  thee  to  bear?  Oh  ! 
nothing,  nothing  !  I  am  dependence'  self,  and 
through  life  long  I  can  only  hang  upon  thy  dear 
arm,  trusting  all  to  thy  guidance  sweet,  as  erst 
I  clung  to  thee  for  life  amid  the  waves  of  the 


sea. 


MORTARA.  49 

When  wandering  far  from  Eden's  sunny  bow 
ers,  had  the  love  angel  called  after  beautiful  Eve 
and  bade  her  return  to  Paradise  and  its  streams 
and  its  flowers,  she  had  not  crept  back  more  tim 
idly  to  its  Orient  gate  than  comes  my  heart  to 
such  happiness  and  thee.  Ah  !  Mortara,  it  is 
bliss  to  trust  thee  and  it  is  heaven  to  love  thee. 
Forgive  all,  then,  and  "Thy  God  shall  be  my 
God,  and  whither  thou  goest  I  will  go." 

^May  thy  years  be  many  and  their  seasons  all 
golden  autumns,  rich  in  purple  clusters  and  gar 
nered  delights !  /  The  love  angels  watch  thee 
and  bear  me  word  soon  that  thou  art  well  and 
happy !  HELEN. 


50  MORTARA. 


NEW  YORK,  December  27,  1849. 

MORTARA,  —  Saturday  morning  I  walked  with 
Minnie  to  hear  your  celebrated  Rabbi  from  Eng 
land  ;  and  when,  toward  the  close  of  his  elo 
quent  discourse,  he  came  to  dwell  with  rapture 
upon  Israel's  final  return  to  Jerusalem  and  Ju- 
dea,  and  with  tears  pressed  home  the  trespasses 
of  the  people  in  the  lands  of  their  sojourn,  I 
could  think  of  nothing  but  Ezra  mourning  be 
fore  the  house  of  God  over  "  the  strange  mar 
riages." 

0  Mortara,  I  never  understood  it  so  before, 
and  I  came  away  from  the  synagogue  determined 
that  you  should  never  look  on  me  again.  But. 
dearest,  as  God  sees  things,  it  cannot  be  so  wrong 
for  you  to  wed  a  Christian.  We  both  believe  in 
Him  and  trust  in  the  same  blessed  Messiah  —  do 
we  not  ?  Beside,  how  be  parted  from  you  now, 
Mortara,  and  live  ?  My  life  is  in  you,  and,  like 
the  earth,  my  heart  could  do  without  all  the 
stars  save  its  one  true  Polar  star,  whose  loving 
beams  my  thoughts  have  learned  to  go  to  for 
jewels  to  deck  themselves  in,  while  my  soul  puts 
them  on  for  bracelets  and  wears  them  for  smiles. 

Thy  letter  of  to-day  is  a  sweet  Sychar  of  hope, 
and  like  a  devout  pilgrim  I  have  encamped  by  it 
with  the  new  best  song  of  love  warm  on  my  lips. 


MORTARA.  51 

Ah !  yes,  and  would  the  slow  turning  moons  that 
lie  between  had  come  and  waned  and  I  were  in 
deed  with  thee  in  the  land  of  flowers,  where,  thou 
sayest,  those  dark  maids  wait  my  coming ;  where 
all  the  breezes  are  heavy  with  perfumes,  and, 
more  than  all,  thy  noble  self  forever  near. 

Oh  !  if  the  picture  so  entrance,  the  reality  may 
be  likened  only  to  thee ;  for  thyself  art  bliss, 
thyself  art  joy.  So  I  trust  thee,  and  so,  dearest, 
I  believe  thee  ;  while  loving  thee  fills  the  days 
with  gladness,  and  calling  thee  mine  robs  life  of 
all  save  delight.  One  doubt  were  death ;  but 
oh!  no,  no,  thou  wilt  be  true,  f  Thy  chivalrous 
vows  hang  belted  around  my  heart  like  rainbows 
upon  a  summer  sea,  forever  covenanting  anew 
the  sweet  springtimes  and  the  glad  harvests  of 
thy  love.^ 

/But,  alas !  how  reply  to  thy  chidings,  when 
blame,  for  lack  of  care  to  one's  self,  is  so  sweet 
from  lips  that  we  love  ?/  Pray,  dearest,  have  no 
fears.  I  rode  much  when  the  day  was  brighter 
to  me  than  now,  and  Benoni  says  that  I  sit  a 
horse  still  like  a  Cossack.  Beside,  I  keep  in 
mind  —  dost  see  ?  —  those  ponies  and  those  gal- 
lopings  with  thee  over  the  plains,  shaking  the 
dews  from  the  drowsing  flowers  and  hieing  the 
birds  to  their  matins  of  the  morn. 

Coming  for  me  soon  ?  Oh,  no,  no  !  What  I 
go  to  do  is  scarcely  more  than  commenced,  and 
were  I  to  play  deserter  to  it  now,  turning  to  the 
books  they  keep,  the  good  angels  could  do 


52  MORTARA. 

naught  but  weep  tears  over  the  page  whereon  all 
the  foreshadowed  should  have  been  writ.  Be 
side,  the  moons  vowed  to  your  dear  mother's 
memory  make  a  long  line  upon  the  calendar  yet, 
and  I  shall  doubtless  not  only  have  ample  time 
for  all  that  to  my  hand  has  been  set,  but  occa 
sion  for  not  a  few  lessons  in  waiting  ! 

However,  spread  wide  now  those  great  pro 
tecting  arms  of  thine,  whose  shelter  a  weary  an 
gel  might  covet ;  while,  with  prayers  for  thee 
all  whispered  in  love,  and  kisses  for  thee  melting 
in  smiles  and  dissolving  in  tears,  I  come  once 
more  to  chain  thy  heart  around,  as  I  would  fain 
bind  thy  soul  to  mine  forever,  with  love  cords, 
many  stranded  here,  and  hawser  laid  in  heaven. 

HELEN. 


MORTARA.  53 


NEW  YORK,  January  1,  1850. 

MORTARA,  — Benoni  has  just  forwarded  your 
letters  by  the  last  steamer,  and  as  there  were 
none  among  them  bearing  your  revered  father's 
seal  and  handwriting  we  fear  much  lest  the 
places  that  knew  him  behold  him  no  more ;  and 
as  his  days  have  been  so  very  long  upon  the 
earth,  it  is  surely  not  impossible.  Still,  dearest 
Mortara,  you  are  not  left  without  comfort.  The 
name  of  thy  noble  father  is  written  with  those 
whom  the  Lord  has  called  His  own ;  and  instead 
of  mourning  any  longer  here  the  absence  of  his 
beautiful  first-born,  he  will  be  waiting  for  you 
in  a  life  beyond  the  grave  that  beatifies  and  re 
stores  the  loved  and  the  lost. 

But  for  fear  of  this  new  great  sorrow  to  you  I 
should  be  very,  very  happy  this  evening,  for  like 
Ossian  I  see  the  stars  from  out  the  watery  clouds 
and  they  tell  me  of  thee,  dearest,  and  happiness 
in  the  long  years  to  come.  /Your  last  letter,  too, 
is  lying  spread  out  here  before  me  like  a  balmy 
little  June  all  freighted  with  blossoms  and  laden 
with  love. )  Through  Minnie's  eyes  I  have  been 
looking  down  its  roseate  lines  and  whispering 
prayers  that  the  years  of  thy  life  be  thus  all 
linked  with  sunshine  and  flowers. 

Mortara,  thyself  alone  art  riches  evermore,  and 


54  MORTAR  A. 

thy  love  "  a  light  at  evening  time  "  that  covers 
all  my  night  with  stars.  Wonder  not,  then,  that 
I  almost  fear  to  call  thee  mine,  lest  having  so 
much  I  make  the  angels  jealous  and  they  come 
for  thee,  too. 

Alas  !  Heaven's  loudest  complaint  to  mortals 
is  ever  for  lack  of  love.  Even  He  who  sitteth 
upon  the  Throne  of  thrones  knoweth  what  it  is 
to  stretch  out  His  arms  in  the  utter  desertion  of 
no  one  to  love  Him,  no  one  to  seek  Him,  and  no 
one  to  fear  Him,  —  "  no,  not  one."  /Then  as  we 
may  best  show  our  love  to  Him  by  loving  one 
another,  is  it  not  well,  dearest,  that  thou  shouldst 
begin  by  loving  me  just  ever  so  little?/  Ah! 
yes,  and  like  the  ambitious  vine  do  thou  reach 
out  all  thy  tendril  thoughts  to  what  is  nearest, 
the  while  aspiring  to  the  oak  or  the  pine  of  a 
loftier  trust,  even  the  faith  of  Abraham  that  was 
accounted  unto  him  for  righteousness. 

I  shall  not  complain  if  all  my  angels  go  to  keep 
you  company  so  long  as  they  help  you  to  give 
such  encouraging  accounts  of  yourself  as  this  :  — 

"  I  am  reading  the  New  Testament,  love,  for 
your  sake,  and  I  say  my  prayers  sometimes  in 
the  little  book  that  you  gave  me." 

Oh!  continue  to  do  so,  mine  own  beautiful 
and  best,  and  let  my  prayers  be  answered :  that 
you  come  at  last  to  read  them  both  for  your  own 
sake.  I  often  wonder  how  one  who  has  read 
Moses  and  the  Prophets  from  his  youth  up,  over 
looked  Jerusalem  from  holy  Olivet  and  bleeding 


MORTAR  A.  55 

Calvary,  .lingered  in  Gethsemane  and  knelt  and 
wept  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Temple,  can  still 
doubt,  save  it  be  indeed  as  Paul  says  of  his 
countrymen  :  — 

"  God  hath  given  them  the  spirit  of  slumber." 

You  are  thinking  that  quotation  too  pertinent, 
coming  from  me,  and  it  does  seem  a  little  brusque 
and  incongruous,  surely  ;  but  you  know  my 
thoughts  come  always  linked  hands  rustling  in 
upon  me,  the  bidden  and  the  unbidden  together ; 
and  if  sometimes,  as  now,  one  perchance  stray eth 
to  thy  side  garmented  unfitly,  do  thou  let  the 
trembling  little  offender  find  pity  in  thy  sight 
and  come  away  wrapped  close  in  the  fault-cover^ 
ing  garb  of  thine  own  beautiful  forgiveness ! 

Dearest,  noblest  Mortara,  the  Eunomian  hours 
of  this  long  winter  evening  seem  just  made  for 
visiting  with  you  in,  and  mine  hostess  soul  has 
been  working  sweet  miracles  on  the  few  little 
love  words  in  your  letter  until  they  spread  out 
into  a  feast  that  the  unloved  world  might  come 
in  and  sit  down  to.  This  choice  bit  of  a  mor- 
ceau,  though,  my  heart  is  selfish  enough  to  sit 
up  and  feed  on  all  by  itself,  marveling  the  while 
at  the  sweet  healing  it  hath  for  wounded  pride 
and  blighted  hope  :  — 

"  If  your  dependence,  as  you  term  it,  be  not 
a  new  grace,  then  your  angels  must  surely  have 
lent  you  their  charms  wherewith  to  conceal  it." 

How  beautiful  of  you  to  say  that,  Mortara  ; 
and  I  wonder,  too,  if  angel  or  mortal  ever  enter- 


56  MORTAR  A. 

tained  thought  or  smile  of  love  more  loftily  un 
selfish  than  this  :  — 

"  The  landscape  of  your  life  has  indeed  been 
darkened  over  with  shadows  ;  but  you  should  be 
content  since  Heaven,  like  a  skillful  artist,  has 
made  yourself  not  only  sunny  enough  to  dispel 
them  from  your  own  heart,  but  to  banish  them 
from  the  hearts  of  your  friends  also.  Beside,  I 
have  often  looked  on  my  resolute  lolantha,  and 
wondered  if  she  ever  could  have  been  half  as  en 
chanting  to  me  without  her  privation." 
^Oh,  strange  fatality  !  that  all  the  stars  in  my 
sky  should  have  been  darkened  o'er  that  the 
heaven-lighted  aurora-borealis  of  thy  love  might 
shine  the  brighter  upon  my  lifeJand  I  be  crowned 
with  the  glory  of  calling  thee  mine.  But  the 
fates  are  not  wont  to  give  so  much  more  largely 
than  they  take  ;  and  oh  !  thou  more  bright  than 
the  stars  and  more  dear  than  the  light,  tell  me, 
has  the  world  grown  Eden  again  and  do  the 
skies  rain  gladness  that  my  poor  heart  may  drink 
it  as  from  rivers  that  never  run  dry  ?  Alas ! 
when  love  hath  most,  then  most  it  doubts ;  and 
O  Mortara,  bend  now  thy  beautiful  head  and 
tell  me  once  again  in  whispers  that  the  angels 
might  pause  a  little  on  their  harps  to  listen  for, 
art  thou  indeed  mine  and  I  thine,  and  I  to  live 
with  thee  ever,  ever  ?  I  to  lean  upon  thine  arm, 
gather  joy  from  thy  lips,  and  follow  down  all 
the  sunset  paths  of  life  guarded  by  thy  watchful 
eye  and  shielded  by  thy  tender  hand  ? 


MORTAR  A.  57 


NEW  YORK,  January  17,  1850. 

MORTARA, —  Those  letters  must  have  been 
the  bearers  of  good  news  instead  of  unwelcome, 
as  I  feared,  or  they  had  surely  reached  you  ere 
this ;  for  good  journey eth  to  the  good  on  foot, 
while  evil  flieth  to  them. 

So  mine  own  far  away  begs  to  know  more  of 
myself,  more  how  I  pass  the  days,  and  almost 
complains  that  my  pen  should  be  so  chary  of  the 
progress  I  am  making ;  but  results  are  greater 
apart  from  the  steps  that  lead  to  them,  and  while 
men  praise  success  they  laugh  at  effort  without 
it.  Better  then,  dearest,  you  be  content  to  know 
that  all  the  days  are  full  of  toil  and  all  my 
thoughts  full  of  dreams  of  thee. 

The  little  book  is  really  out,  though,  and  flying 
hither  and  thither  like  leaves  among  the  Autumn 
winds,  as  the  papers  ere  this  must  have  told  you. 
Fears  for  the  world's  reception  of  one's  first  work 
are  fearful  indeed,  while  the  relief  of  finding  it 
praised  and  not  criticised  is  after  all  but  another 
name  for  torture,  lest  the  feat  of  slaying  so 
timid  a  thing  as  your  one  little  ewe  lamb  of  a 
book  might  not  have  been  deemed  Herculean 
enough  for  the  majesty  of  their  pens !  How 
ever,  so  long  as  many  are  pleased,  many  come  to 
congratulate,  and  the  far  and  near  hasten  for- 


58  MORTARA. 

ward  their  orders,  one  need  not  quarrel  with 
the  wherefore,  I  ween. 

A  group  of  new  faces,  too,  are  smiling  over 
their  desks  this  morning  in  a  far-away  school. 
A  pretty  little  banking  institution  —  dost  see  ? 
—  for  absorbing  the  tiny  gold  dollars  that  come 
to  me  now,  just  as,  you  remember,  the  sweet 
plans  that  ran  through  my  thoughts  in  the  vis 
ion  bore  away  the  shining  little  pieces  from  my 
hands  almost  faster  than  I  was  able  to  gather 
them.  I  promised,  though,  to  afflict  you  no  more 
with  the  shades  of  that  "  gloomy  superstition," 
as  you  call  it ;  but,  Mortara,  as  well  go  back  and 
convince  Belshazzar  that  the  handwriting  his 
eyes  saw  traced  upon  the  wall  was  but  a  freak  of 
his  own  imagination,  as  persuade  me  that  my 
five  summers'  ago  noonday  panoramic  vision  of 
darkness  was  not  a  forecast  of  the  stern  events 
that  have  since  been  and  are  still  to  be  crowded 
upon  the  years  of  my  life.  Judging  by  the  past, 
too,  mine  is  to  be  no  flowery  way,  and  now  pass 
ing  out  these  gates 1  I  do  perchance  enter  anew 
the  gate  of  tears.  But,  Mortara,  with  love  and 
thee  shut  up  in  my  heart  I  can  brave  all  and  en 
dure  all. 

I  must  go  to  Washington,  though.  What  I 
have  undertaken  can  never  be  accomplished  un 
less  I  do.  Myself  and  my  little  love-work  re 
ceived  and  smiled  upon  there,  the  wide,  wide 
world  will  be  open  before  me. 

1  N.  Y.  B.  Institute. 


MORTAR  A.  59 

Now  your  black  eyes  are  frowning  again,  I 
fear,  but  alas  !  what  is  to  be  one  has  a  tendency 
to  ;  and  in  spite  of  all  I  can  do  my  thoughts  will 
come  and  go  faced  toward  the  wanderings  of 
that  lonely  vision  or  wide-awake,  twinkling  sec- 

ond  of  a  dream  "  that  was  not  all  a  dream  !  " 

*  *  *  *  -••• 


PART   III. 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C.,  February  8, 1850. 

MORTARA, —  Your  letter  needed  no  orange 
blossom  or  aught  else  to  atone  for  the  slowness 
of  its  coming,  since  it  leaves  me  nothing  to  for 
give  and  little  to  forget  save  the  pain  of  not 
hearing  from  you.  Indeed,  portraying  as  it  does 
both  the  sorrow  you  are  enduring  and  the  efforts 
you  are  making  for  your  friends  beyond  the  sea, 
blame  should  rather  be  to  me,  I  fear,  for  having 
borne  with  so  little  grace  this  —  my  first  lack  of 
a  word  from  you. 

But  alas !  love  is  ever  selfish ;  and  now,  while 
regretting  most  sincerely  David's  call  to  leave 
his  Almah  and  go  half  a  world  away,  I  find 
myself  rejoicing  that  the  lot  fell  not  on  thee, 
dear,  dear  Mortara.  Oh  !  no,  no,  the  thought 
is  woe,  and  with  tearful  thanks  I  hide  it  from 
me.  David's  noble  self-sacrifice,  going  in  Pha- 
nor's  place,  is  one  of  those  holy  things  out  of 
heaven  which,  like  Jacob's  ladder,  lead  mortals 
so  near  to  that  blissful  abode  that  we  may  well 
charge  him  to  have  care  for  himself  lest  those 
who  mourn  his  absence  behold  him  no  more. 
Please  press  my  love  in  a  kiss  upon  sweet  Al- 
mah's  lips  and  say  to  her  that  while  Helen  lives 
she  shall  never  lack  a  sister. 


62  MORTARA. 

The  little  book  goes  on  turning  to  gold  as 
if  all  the  good  genii  had  touched  it  ;  the 
papers  continue  to  praise,  and  my  heart  would 
know  only  joy  this  morning,  Mortara,  but  for 
the  tears  I  know  sorrow  and  loneliness  are  cir= 
cling  around  yours.  Even  if  you  had  not  named 
the  great  bereavement  of  your  noble  father's 
sudden  death,  I  should  have  felt  it  in  every  line 
of  your  precious  letter  —  so  softly  you  take  up 
the  words  and  so  tenderly  you  lay  them  down, 
like  one  folding  away  hopes  to  be  fostered  no 
more  and  pressing  kisses  upon  mute  lips  that  may 
part  to  whisper  blessing  and  love  in  return  no 
more,  nevermore  !  Oh  !  mine  own  beautiful  and 
best,  how  near  it  makes  heaven  seem  to  hear 
you  say :  "  He  cannot  come  to  me,  but  I  shall 
go  to  him,"  —  as  though  with  your  own  blessed 
hand  you  had  turned  back  the  clouds  and  marked 
the  shining  way  leading  up  even  to  the  New  Je 
rusalem  with  its  golden  streets  and  walls  of  sap 
phire. 

Mortara,  you  must  not  despair.  "  God  is 
great,  God  is  good,"  and  for  the  sake  of  His  cov 
enant  with  your  princely  fathers,  Abraham  and 
Isaac  and  Jacob,  whose  blood  purples  in  your 
veins  down  through  thousands  of  years,  He  will 
never  leave  nor  forsake  you ;  and  more  than  all, 
One  whom  you  have  not  yet  learned  to  love  has 
whispered  to  every  bereaved  heart :  "  Come  unto 
me  all  ye  who  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and 
I  will  give  you  rest."  Even  as  He  stood  and 


MORTARA.  63 

wept  over  Jerusalem,  so  now  He  waits  to  cover 
you  with  His  blessing,  fill  your  heart  with  His 
love,  and  banish  every  care  from  your  thoughts. 
tOh!  that  I  could  light  just  one  new  joy  for 
you,  or  scatter  flowers  for  just  so  much  as  one 
footprint !/  Ah !  that  one  footprint,  so  it  were 
faced  toward  me,  how  I  would  fly  now  to  gather 
it  up  as  though  an  angel  had  left  it  in  the  world, 
and  fold  it  to  my  lonely  heart  for  a  thing  more 
dear  and  more  precious  than  the  crown  of  a 
king  —  as  I  have  over  and  over  again  these 
sweet  assurances  that  whatever  comes  or  what 
ever  betides  there  is  always  left  to  me  the  sure 
refuge  of  thine  own  loving  arms.  Blessed  words, 
precious  words  !  And  oh  !  thou  noblest  and 
best,  repeat  them,  till  like  lights  upon  a  dark 
shore  they  guide  me  back  to  thee  again.  Ah  ! 
yes,  dearest,  dry  thy  tears  and  stay  thy  sighing, 
if  only  the  while  to  write  me  once  again  with 
thine  unceasing  love  winding  and  cascading 
adown  the  lines. 

But  forgive  me,  Mortara,  I  have  asked  of  thee 
a  song  with  the  streams  of  Babylon  at  thy  feet, 
and  thy  dear  far-off  home  dark  with  mourning. 
Oh !  send  me  tears,  then,  that  I  may  weep  with 
thee  and  for  thee  till  the  love  angel  touch  again 
thy  heart.  Meantime,  trusting  all  to  thine  un 
changing  word,  I  return  thy  "  one  tearful  kiss  " 
with  a  thousand  little  sunny  isles  of  them  in  a 
sea  of  love,  and  barks  on  all  its  waves  heavy 
laden  with  blessing.  HELEN. 


64  MORTARA. 


WASHINGTOX,  D.  C.,  March  20,  1850. 

MORTARA,  —j  Hours  are  long  on  the  dial  of  a 
waiting  heart  to  which  love  turns  wicked  sprite, 
lengthening  the  moments  even  into  cycles  of  en- 
duranceA  Pray,  is  it  because  so  many  are  show 
ering  blessings  that  thy  dear  hand  must  be  stayed 
from  writing  me  ? 

I  leave  in  the  morning  for  Charleston,  the  city 
of  palmettoes  and  the  home  of  love  and  flowers. 
Washington,  dear,  noble  Washington,  has  marked 
the  way  and  set  it  along  with  lights  and  friends. 
But  oh !  how  I  long  to  leave  all  and  fly  to  thee, 
thou  ever  first  remembered  and  latest  in  my 
thoughts. 

Dearest,  noblest  Mortara,  oh  !  fold  me  in  thine 
arms  and  let  me  but  one  moment  hide  from  the 
world  that  I  so  constantly  dread.  Alas  !  is  there 
no  refuge  ?  Must  I  go,  must  I  ?  I  do  wrong 
though,  to  be  thinking  of  myself  when  you  have 
perhaps  to-day  parted  from  your  dear,  noble 
brother  forever,  and  his  poor  sweet  Almah  weep 
ing  tears  with  no  hand*  but  yours  to  dry  them 
away.  I  can  feel  the  loneliness  that  weighs 
down  her  desolate  heart,  and  would  I  could  com 
fort  her.  But  alas  !  this  world  was  made  to 
break  hearts  in,  while  love  was  sent  'from  heaven 
to  heal  them.  The  precious  balm,  though,  is  so 


MORTARA.  65 

scarce  that  many  must  die  for  want  of  it. 
Woman's  heart  at  least  is  seldom  cordialed,  save 
with  her  own  tears,  and  they  as  often  drown  as 
cure. 

Mortar^L  thy  love  alone  should  brighten  the 
world,  though  banished  the  sun.)  Why,  then,  is 
my  heart  dark  and  lonely  ?  Oh  !  thou,  my  star, 
art  too  distant.  Thy  letters,  though,  abound  in 
beautiful  praise,  and  this  in  thy  last  was  precious 
indeed :  — 

"  I  am  proud  of  my  noble  Helen."  Ah  !  had 
these  words  been  sent  to  me  oracled  from  the 
lips  of  Fame  herself  I  were  less  pleased  and  less 
proud,  and  love  has  so  engraven  them  upon  my 
heart's  memory  that  they  will  brighten  there 
with  the  last  wave  of  time.  You  are  my  world 
and  I  have  earned  your  applause.  Enough  !  and 
yet  I  ask  for  more  —  courage  to  persevere.  I 
dread  all,  everything.  I  am  afraid  even  of  my 
own  thoughts,  and  every  footfall  makes  my 
heart  start  like  a  sleeping  criminal.  0  Mortara, 
Mortara,  will  I  hear  from  you  in  Charleston? 
Though  all  the  city  come  out  to  meet  me  and 
the  angels  themselves  walk  linked  hands,  a  let- 

O  * 

ter  from  you  there  will  be  to  my  soul  a  bubbling 
fountain  in  a  desert,  a  voice  in  the  wilderness,  or 
a  white  hand  from  out  the  clouds.  If  no  more 
L  love  to  send,  then  tell  me,  dearest,  whither  you 
go  and  what  you  do.  Tell  me  if  Almah  is  in 
consolable,  and  let  me  share  as  much  as  possible 
what  pains  and  what  pleases  you. 


66  MORTAR  A. 

These  flowers  bring  you  my  tears  and  my 
kisses.  I  received  them  last  night  at  the  good 
President's  levee,  who  has  this  evening  sent  me 
a  letter  that  bends  a  golden  canopy  over  all  the 
dark  and  lonely  way. 

Once  again,  fare  thee  well,  mine  own  dear,  true 
Mortara.  I  shall  love  thee  when  the  stars  are 
old,  and  come  storm  and  cloud,  or  come  what 
may,  next  to  our  Heavenly  Father,  my  trust  is 
in  thee.  My  heart  is  wedded  forever  to  thine, 
and  parted  from  thee  I  but  love  thee  more  and 
pray  for  thee  oftener. 

One  fond  embrace  from  thy  dear  arm,  while  I 
steal  a  kiss  from  thy  dear  lips,  a  smile  from  thy 
black  eyes,  and  a  curl  from  thy  jetty  locks. 

Ah  !  why  this  shadow  upon  my  heart  and  this 
vague  consciousness  of  every  day  drifting  far 
ther  and  farther  away  from  you  !  But  alas  !  I 
cannot  drive  it  away,  nor  stop  nor  turn  back. 
No,  no.  I  must  go,  I  must,  I  must ! 


PART   IV. 

NEW  YORK,  May  9,  1850. 

MoRTARA,  —  It  is  the  deep  night-time,  —  the 
hour  I  know  not ;  but  oh  !  I  cannot  sleep  when 
I  remember  that  to-morrow,  oh  !  to-morrow,  I 
speak  with  you  and  go  out  from  your  heart  to  re 
turn  no  more,  nevermore  !  ^Already  my  soul  has 
crucibled  its  woe  beyond  the  bitterness  of  tears, 
and  henceforth  life  is  all  endurance,  —  cold, 
hopeless,  loveless  endurance./  Oh  !  to-morrow, 
to  -  morrow  !  Shall  I  never  meet  you  again  ? 
Never  hear  your  voice  ?  Will  you  never,  never, 
never  come  to  call  me  yours  again  ? 

These  night  chills  do  not  so  freeze  me  as  the 
loneliness  that  now,  like  a  cold  mist,  is  falling 
on  my  head  and  sinking  down  into  my  heart. 

Seven  moons  ago  I  gave  you  the  love  of  my 
soul  for  the  wealth  of  yours ;  and  now  when  I 
cancel  your  vows  and  tear  myself  from  you,  as 
well  for  your  good  as  my  own,  my  heart  claims 
you  by  a  price  a  thousand  times  greater  and  a 
thousand,  thousand  times  paid. 

Mortara,  forgive  me  ;  but  vows  are  on  my  lips 
to  the  dead  by  which  I  should  never,  never  have 
promised  to  be  your  wife,  —  vows  which  nothing 
but  love  for  you  could  ever  have  made  me  for 
get.  Not  fear  of  the  world,  nor  poverty,  nor 


68  MORTARA. 

pain,  nor  death ;  but  oh  !  to  live  with  you,  to  be 
yours,  I  would  almost  have  forgotten  heaven 
itself.  But  to-night,  in  this  desolate  hour,  I 
would  wring  from  my  soul  the  last  vestige  of  its 
idolatry.  I  know  my  duty.  I  see  what  lies  be 
fore  me,  —  a  sacrifice  of  not  only  the  two  little 
years  that  I  begged  of  you,  but  many  years,  a 
lifetime,  perhaps ;  and  0  God !  help  me  that  I 
fail  not,  and  keep  me  that  I  turn  not  back  ! 
(  Dearest,  noblest  Mortara,  my  love  for  you  be 
gan  in  gratitude  ;  it  has  grown  in  esteem,  and 
though  I  part  from  you  now,  oh !  blame  me  not, 
nor  darken  these  pure  feelings  with  words  of 
wrong ;  but  like  gentle  rivulets  let  them  run  on 
that  when  the  day  is  weary  and  the  water  in  the 
bottle  is  spent,  their  murmuring  memories  may 
be  to  my  fainting  heart  ^like  the  voices  of  the 
angels  whispering  of  hopey  No,  no,  Mortara, 
blame  me  not.  It  is  no  selfishness  that  moves 
me  to  write  you  as  I  do,  I  leave  happiness  and 
thee  but  for  toil  and  danger ;  for  long  years  of 
loneliness,  and  weariness,  and  darkness  every 
where.  I  bless  you  for  all  your  love,  I  bless  you 
for  all  your  devotion  yand  could  I  weigh  happi 
ness  from  my  life  I  would  gladly  crowd  yours 
with  length  of  years  and  bliss  such  as  mortals 
never  knoAv.  J 

I  have  rro  tears,  and  beyond  the  morrow  no 
hope.  When  you  have  read  this  you  will  write 
me ;  but  oh !  say  not  that  you  love  me,  lest  I 
leave  all  and  fly  to  you ;  and  oh !  say  not  that 


MORTAR  A.  69 

you  hate  me  lest  it  drive  me  mad.  But,  Mor- 
tara,  remember  me  and  pity  me.  Leaving  you, 
I  leave  all  the  world.  You  will  believe  that  I 
love  you  less  and  my  people  more,  but  oh !  no, 
no.  My  duty  is  to  them ;  and  since  I  may  not 
live  to  love  you,  God  be  praised  that  I  have  a 
smiling  little  troop  of  loved  'ones,  to  live  for! 
(Striving  to  weed  the  garden  of  their  young  lives 
will  be  the  surest  way  of  planting  flowers  in  the 
desert  of  my  own.)  So  even  they  and  you  and 
everything  go  to  make  up  the  ringer  of  Provi 
dence  that  forever  points  me  away,  away  to  the 
lonely  wanderings  of  that  fated  vision  which, 
ere  you  read  this,  my  feet  will  have  entered  upon 
nevermore  to  tarry,  nevermore  to  turn  back,  and 
nevermore  to  weary,  I  hope,  until  the  end  is 
reached  and  the  morning  breaks  again  upon 
these  veiled  eyes  of  mine. 

Forgive  me,  then,  Mortara,  and  most  of  all 
forgive  me  if  I  have  wronged  you.  But  our 
spirits  divine  some  things  and  come  to  read  them 
all  the  plainer  ere  they  have  reached  the  form 
and  substance  of  words ;  and  I  am  persuaded 
that  either  some  untoward  event  growing  out  of 
your  noble  father's  death,  or  the  same  great  en 
terprise  that  called  your  brother  far,  far  away, 
calls  also  you  and  you  would  be  free.  I  know 
it,  I  feel  it ;  and  saying  these  words  to  you,  Mor 
tara,  I  do  but  give  utterance  to  what  has  been 
all  along  distancing  the  night  of  my  life  from 
the  morning  of  yours.  Is  it  not  so?  Oh,  go 


70  MORTAR  A. 

then ;  and  may  the  God  of  your  fathers  send  His 
whitest  angels  to  guard  and  keep  you !  And  if 
in  far-off  years  we  meet  again,  I  shall  love  to 
give  you  my  hand  over  the  deep  grave  of  the 
past  and  feel  that,  as  now,  you  do  at  least  re 
spect  me. 

Farewell,  Mortara.  '  What  I  feel  is  not  woe, 
it  is  not  madness,  it  is  not  grief ;  words  may 
never,  never  speak  it.  Oh !  was  desolation  ever 
so  drear  ?  Was  loneliness  ever  so  lonely  ?  And 
oh  !  was  duty  ever  so  severe  ? 

'Alas  !  the  world  is  indeed  dark  before  me, 
while  thou,  my  soul's  light,  goest  from  me. 
And  oh  !  how  make  you  believe,  dearest  Mor 
tara,  that  I  thus  will  to  part  hands  and  stay 
from  you  only  to  be  the  more  worthy  of  loving 
you  and  the  surer  of  finding  you  again  ?  How 
make  you  know  that  but  for  the  certainty  of 

m)  — — *- 3^        «/ 

wrong  to  you,  wrong  to  myself,  and  wrong  to  all 
linked  hands  with  us  both,  naught  this  side  of 
heaven  could  move  one  thought  of  mine  to  the 
step  I  am  taking  so  long  as  you  had  a  smile  for 
me  lefty 

But  on  !  thus  it  was  ever  death  for  me  to  love, 
and  I  linger  now  as  at  the  gate  of  Paradise  with 
only  this  one  more  word  to  thee  trembling  on 
my  lips,  —  farewell,  Mortara,  forever  and  forever 
fare  thee  well.  HELEN. 


PART   V. 

BANGOR,  ME.,  June  27,  1852. 

MOKTARA,  —  Like  the  rivers,  forever  running 
yet  never  passed,  like~  the  winds,  forever  going 
yet  never  gone,  so  is  my  love  for  thee  ;  I  and  now, 
after  two  long  weary  years,  your  welcome  letter 
is  as  if  the  angels  had  lifted  the  leaden  hand  of 
despair  and  suddenly  turned  a  thousand  rivulets 
of  joy  into  this  desert  heart  of  mine.  Your  lips 
have  but  whispered  my  name,  and  lands  and 
seas  are  widening  between  us  no  more.  You 
reach  out  your  hand  to  enfold  mine  in  its  clasp, 
-^-1  hear  your  voice,  and  all  my  clouds  are 
beaming  with  light ;  my  stars  shine  again  in  the 
heaven  of  your  smile,  and  my  morning  new 
dawns  in  the  paradise  of  your  love.  / 

Oh !  nothing:  less  than  a  leaf  from  the  book 

O 

of  life  could  I  prize  so  much  as  this,  your 
precious  letter.  I  could  live  upon  its  words  a 
thousand  years,  and  feast  hope  forever  upon  its 
dreams  of  love,  —  love  all  high  and  holy,  bind 
ing  souls  as  with  the  "  sweet  influence  of  the 
Pleiades  "  that  no  power  may  sever  them ;  love 
that  came  from  the  skies  and  in  the  lute  of  thy 
voice  awoke  my  heart  to  its  Elysian  advent  of 
song  and  ambrosial  joys.  But  alas !  dearest 
Mortara,  only  in  the  spirit  world  mayest  thou 


72  MORTARA. 

ever  be  mine  and  I  thine.  (There,  beneath  those 
soft  skies,  I  may  at  least  mark  whither  thy  wings 
take  their  flight  and  watch  thy  return,  as  now 
I  do  miss  thee  everywhere  and  wait  for  thee  and 
pray  for  thee./  But,  though  parted  from  you  in 
this  world, /I  would  still  forever  wear  the  jew 
eled  mantle  of  thy  love,  and  have  all  thy  soul's 
life  to  bless  mine  with.  Oh !  a  thousand,  thou 
sand  times  a  day  I  envy  the  soul  part  of  me  that 
puts  on  wings  and  flies  to  you,  not  to  your  em 
brace,  but  to  look  on  you  from  afar,  envying  the 
while  even  the  shadow  that  walks  by  your  side 
and  the  voices  of  the  winds  because  they  min 
gle  with  yours.  Ah  !  yes,  but  for  the  fear  of 
Heaven,  long,  long  ago,  a  thousand,  thousand 
times  ago,  I  had  left  all  and  followed  you  into 
those  golden  climes.  But,  Mortara,  astray  from 
duty  I  were  farther  from  you  there  than  here, 
where,  like  the  compass  upon  the  sea,  my  heart 
beats  on  the  truer  the  farther  from  the  haven, 

i  the  firmer  for  the  cloud  and  the  storm, 
is  in  the  soul  that  we  love.  JLt  is  my  spirit 

at  weeps  and  is  lonely  without  you ;  and  from 
my  deep  heart  I  bjess  you  for  these  dear,  dear 
words  r>f  tft-fky.  showing  me  how  manifold^ 

O  /£' 

richer  are  they  who  find  again  than  they  wno 
have  never  lost.  Oh  !  this  precious  letter  !  I 
spread  it  out  before  me,  and  it  is  a  vale  more 
sunny  and  more  beautiful  than  the  longing  eye 
of  Israel's  prophet  saw.  i  I  wind  its  lines  around 
my  heart  and  they  are  rainbows  too  golden  to/ 


MORTARA.  73 

fade  away.  I  press  it  to  my  lips  /I  wear  it  over 
my  heart ;  I  set  it  up  in  my  thoughts  for  a  tem 
ple  light  that  goeth  not  out./  This  dear  letter, 
-  Heaven  bless  it,  Heaven  be  praised  for  it ! 
although  forced  to  read  in  it  o'er  and  o'er  of 
Mortara  saved  by  letting  Mortara  go.  Was  it 
not  so,  thou  wayward  knight  ?  But  did  I  blame 
you  then,  or  do  I  blame  you  now  ?  Oh  !  never, 
never.  £  My  love  robes  you  in  all  that  is  high 
and  holy,  and  is  so  like  heaven  that  it  asks  no 
return  save  thy  heart!1'  When  asking  and  ex 
pecting  least,  though,  one  oft  most  receives,  and 
lo  !  now  from  half  a  world  away  I  am  wearing  a 
chain  again  new-forged  from  your  love  and  new- 
jeweled  with  your  praises  of  me,  —  a  chain  whose 
links  even  I  had  thought  broken  and  lost,  so 
loosely  you  wore  it  away  now  two  summers 
agone.  Verily,  an  artificer  like  unto  the  Tubal- 
cain  of  old  must  have  come  to  your  aid,  else  each 
loop,  rivet,  and  hook  could  ne  'er  have  been  re- 
fastened  so  fair.  No,  Mortara,  a  necromancer 
thou  art,  and  by  the  magic  of  thine  own  words : 
"  It  takes  two  to  break  an  engagement,"  the 
beautiful  past  is  evoked,  and  all  the  ties  that 
bound  us  twain  are  binding  us  still.  But  oh ! 
thou  dearest,  noblest,  and  best,  if  it  does  indeed 
take  two  to  break  an  engagement,  then  it  must 
surely  take  two  to  keep  one  ;  and  henceforth, 
while  I  send  you  in  the  silvery  horn  of  each 
waning  moon  my  prayers,  my  love,  and  my  tears, 
I  pray  you  to  remember  that  absence  and  years 


74  MORTAR  A. 

are  cold  things  to  wrap  and  lay  away  the  heart 
in.  Ah  !  yes,  and  how  precious  and  how  beau 
tiful  of  you  to  say  :  — 

"  Let  silence  no  longer  bar  the  tomb  to  our 
separation,  and,  please  God,  some  day  I  shall  re 
turn." 

Oh !  how  surely  Heaven  hears  us  when  we 
pray ;  and  here,  even  here,  my  heart  has  builded 
an  altar  and  lighted  thereon  the  fires  of  a 
brighter  faith  in  the  beautiful  beyond. 

In  some  far  time,  Mortara,  far  back  in  a  life 
that  we  have  lived  before,  our  spirits  must  have 
met  and  bowed  and  sipped  together  at  the  same 
spirit  wells  of  thought  and  feeling;  else  why, 
oh !  why,  our  strange  dreamlike  recognition  here? 
I  could  not  see  you,  yet  your  presence  lighted 
all  my  soul  as  with  the  sweet  aurora  of  remem 
bered  smiles  ;  while  your  voice,  your  words  even, 
broke  upon  my  ear  like  the  echoes  of  some  far- 
lost,  love-betraying  Shibboleth  ;  until,  listening 
entranced,  I  could  almost  have  named  you  by 
a  name  borne  to  my  lips  on  a  tide  of  reawak 
ened  memory.  Then,  half  around  that  little 
lake,  —  dost  remember  ?  —  you  paused,  and  ex 
claimed  :  — 

"  Why,  it  seems  I  have  been  waiting  and  look 
ing  for  some  one  like  you  all  my  life,  and  I  am 
half  vexed  now  with  those  angels  you  speak  of 
for  not  bringing  you  to  me  sooner."  The  next 
morning,  too,  by  the  Cocoa  Spring,  stooping  to 
fill  that  tiny  cup  for  me,  you  said  :  — 


MORTARA.  75 

"  Were  this  bubbling  fountain  in  my  own 
country  I  should  fancy  my  parents  must  have  en 
camped  by  it  while  on  some  pilgrimage  in  my 
infancy,  I  am  always  so  haunted  here  with  some 
thing  like  forgotten  voices  and  faded  memories ; " 
when  only  the  evening  before  I  had  said  to  one 
of  the  ladies  :  — 

"  I  must  have  visited  this  spot  some  time  in 
the  dreamland,  the  gurgling  of  the  waters  and 
all  about  it  comes  back  to  me  so  strangely." 
Thus,  like  happy  children,  we  grew  to  be  ac 
quainted  by  forgetting  that  we  were  strangers, 
or  rather  by  discovering,  as  it  seemed,  that  even 
the  shadowy  memories  and  fancies  of  our  souls 
had  some  time  or  other  fallen  together ;  and  as 
we  went  on,  reliving  to  each  other  our  separate 
lives,  what  wonder  that  we  found  such  new  in 
terest  in  each  event  now  that,  like  a  long  divided 
page,  the  two  halves  of  our  one  life  were  joined 
again  !  All  too  soon,  though,  the  great  clock  of 
Fate  struck  another,  sadder  hour,  and  knelled 
out  our  paths  henceon  in  opposite  directions. 
A  sea  of  time  rolled  between,  an  icy  sea  mayhap, 
whose  dark  waves  must  needs  be  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  many  times.  But  if  the  destinies  of  our 
souls  be  indeed  one,  we  shall  ere  long  surely 
meet  again.  M.t  all  events,  dearest  Mortara,  let 
us  be  patient  and  never  weary  well  doing,  that 
although  parted  in  this  life  we  may  finally  come 
to  rest  together  in  the  bosom  of  our  Heavenly 
Father  whose  love  melteth  his  sorest  bereave- 


76  MORTARA. 

ments  into  blessing.  Oh,  no,  no !  thou  dearest, 
noblest,  and  best,  weary  not,  and  oh,  —  may  I  ask 
it  ?  —  forget  me  not.  And  when  nothing  brighter 
in  the  world  comforts  you,  remember  that  far, 
far  away  one  loves  you  a  thousand,  thousand 
times  more  than  her  own  life,  and  would  gladly 
give  all  for  you  and  leave  all  for  you  save  God 
and  heaven,  —  and  heaven  were  scarcely  heaven 
save  you  were  in  it. 

I  love  you,  Mortara.  In  my  thoughts  I  love 
you,  in  my  prayers  I  love  you,  and  in  my  grief 
and  in  my  tears  I  remember  you.  /Oh  !  while 
one  spark  of  my  soul  remains,  that  one  spark 
will  be  the  brighter  for  its  memory  of  you  y 
while  the  joy  I  have  in  your  prosperity  is  equaled 
only  by  the  love-lighted  castles  I  build  upon  the 
hope  of  your  return,  f  HELEN. 


MORTAR  A.  77 


NEW  YORK,  November  27,  1852. 

MORTARA,  —  As  the  ocean  in  the  distance  is 
joined  to  the  sky,  so  this  hour,  half  a  world  away, 
my  spirit  is  blending  its  light  and  its  love  with 
thine ;  and  the  angels  are  listening  while  I  as 
sure  thee,  dearest,  that  the  throbbings  of  the  sea 
are  not  more  true  to  the  earth,  whose  bosom  she 
sleeps  upon,  than_ismy  soul  to  thee.  / 

Oh  !  come  forth  and  look  into  the  stars  to 
night,  and  behold  my  smile  for  thee.  Listen  to 
the  low-breathing  waters,  and  they  will  tell  thee 
of  me,  —  how  I  wait  for  thee,  how  I  watch  for 
thee,  and  how  I  think  of  thee,  and  how  I  pray 
for  thee  ever,  ever ! 

Mortara,  I  see  again,  oh !  I  see  again.  The 
world  is  growing  glad  and  new ;  but  this  same 
bright  world,  Mortara,  I  would  give  to  gaze  one 
moment  on  you.  The  sun,  the  moon,  the  rivers, 
and  the  green  fields  and  the  blue  sky  are  break 
ing  through  the  mists.  Joy  has  returned,  hope 
has  returned,  but  oh !  you  come  not,  you  come 
not ;  and  though  I  watch  for  you  until  the  day 
hangs  weary  on  the  world,  and  though  I  sleep 
and  dream  of  you,  still  you  come  not,  you  come 
not !  Oh !  why,  why,  with  all  other  bright  things, 
may  you  not  come  to  smile  on  me  now  ?  *  The 
angels,  with  love-dews  fresh  on  their  dappling 


78  MORTARA. 


wings,  alone  know  how  my  eyes  look  for  tliee 
everywhere,  —  ixi^every  cloud,  in  every  shadow, 
and  m  evkry  form  that  comes  and  gaes  ;  and 
how  I  watch  for  thy  smile  in  the  twinkliW  stars, 

•  .   »     \    V     .*».»          '.,  y.  \    '  ' 

in  the  soft  moon,  and  everything  that  Has  light 
and  love  in  it. 

!    the  soul  is   not  a  thin     to  be  bridled. 


/  We  cannot  rein  our  thoughts  whither  we  would; 
and  mine,  alas  !  are  lingering  ever  with  you. 
My  heart  throbs  at  the  very  word  letter,  and 
every  footfall  but  echoes  back  the  memory  of 
yours  ;  fand  wander  where  I  will,  as  in  a  happy 
dream,  I  am  forever  witn  you,  —  your  smiles  still 
warm  on  my  heart  and  your  whispers  still  dear 
on  my  lips,  t  Alas  !  no,  what  one  is  one  cannot 
help,  f  We  cannot  tear  hence  our  feelings,  and 
sink  them  root  and  branch  into  the  sea  of  for- 
getfulness,  nor  strangle  the  hopes  nor  choke 
away  the  desires  of  our  souls  ;  and  while  this 
light  lasts,  dear,  dear  Mortara,  how  I  do  long, 
long  to  see  you  !  |  See  you  ?  Oh  !  that  is  too 
much  to  hope  for  and  too  much  to  pray  for. 
Indeed,  the  haunting  convictions,  shaped  out  of 
that  long  ago  vision,  make  me  almost  know  that 
it  may  not,  cannot  be.  Alas  !  no,  Fortune  sel 
dom  gives  so  largely  but  to  ta.ke  again,  and~Tike 
the  rainbow  upon  the  watery  clouds  I  fear  her 
smile  on  me  brightens  but  to  fade  away  ;  and  I 
must  learn  to  look  for  the  joy  of  seeing  you,  or 
anything  beyond  this  little  sunny  opening  in  the 
wilderness,  as  I  have  learned  to  look  for  all  the 


MORTAR  A.  79 

joys  hope  once  painted  so  brightly  along  my 
life's  horizon. 

£  Opposite  points,  though,  long  pursued,  must 
finally  meet ;  so  some  day  our  paths,  like  broken 
circles,  may  join  again.  And  tiU  then,  dearest 
Mortara,  fare  thee  well,  while  with  all  the  re 
newed  promises  of  thy  last  dear  letter  wrapped 
warm  in  my  heart£blessings  be  on  thee  like  the 
rains,  love  like  the  dews,  and  prayers  for  thee 
all  heavenward  like  the  breath  and  the  odor  of 
the  flowers  !  HELEN. 


MORTARA. 


NEW  ORLEANS,  January  17, 1853. 

MORTARA,  —  Only  from  the  far  away  land  of 
the  blest  could  one  receive  tidings  more  sweet 
and  more  beautiful  than  this,  thy  letter,  brings. 
Oh  !  joy  beyond  words.  You  coming?  Mortara 
coming  ?  The  thought  suffocates  ;  my  breath 
stops ;  I  think  where  to  hide  me.  "  I  would  not 
see  you  for  the  world,  and  yet  for  the  world  I 
would  not  miss  seeing  you  !  " 

My  thoughts  swell,  my  heart  beats,  fancy  flies, 
and  I  tremble  as  if  the  grave  yawned,  when  I 
should  be  calm  in  the  fullness  of  joy. 

Three  years,  so  long  and  weary,  seem  now  but 
a  bridge,  a  golden  span,  linking  the  sunny  past 
to  the  hoping,  fearing  present ;  but  a  "  Bridge 
of  Sighs  "  mayhap,  for  oh !  what  lies  beyond  ? 
Love  cometh  only  from  above,  and  alas  !  I  have 
no  Franklin  power  by  which  to  steal  it  down 
upon  you,  Mortara,  as  now  I  would  fain  woo  a 
smile  from  those  black  eyes  of  thine.  Ah  !  no, 
for  although  lacking  little  of  their  lost  lustre, 
these  eyes  of  mine  are  still  hardly  the  eyes,  I 
ween,  for  looking  love  to  eyes  again.  Once 
more  bathed  in  the  enkindling  flashes  of  yours, 
though,  they  will  be  at  least  clairvoyant  enough 
to  miss  the  palest  ray  that  has  ever  beamed  in  a 
smile  of  thine.  I  shall  know,  too,  if  so  much  as 


MORTAR  A.  81 

one  thought  in  all  your  heart  be  faced  backward, 
or  if  one  word  of  your  love  be  found  to  weigh  in 
its  weighing  even  the  weight  of  a  shadow  less. 

Richer  and  prouder  and  haughtier  than  before ! 
Pulseless  hands  will  greet  you,  false  lips  salute 
you,  and  falser  hearts  seek  you.  But  oh  !  would, 
dearest,  I  had  some  Jupiter  chariot  and  horses 
with  hoofs  of  fire  to  speed  thy  coming ;  stars  to 
guide  thee,  and  legions  to  bring  thee  !  0  Morn 
ing,  open  wide  thy  portals !  Let  the  world  be 
bright  and  new !  Mortara  comes,  Mortara  comes ! 
All  life  is  in  that  word,  all  hope  is  in  it  and  all 
fear.  My  Judea  regained,  my  Israel  returning  ? 
Those  arms  still  my  "  belts  of  gold,"  and  thy 
heart  still  a  refuge  from  the  world  ?  Thy  love 
a  light  over  its  wastes,  and,  more  than  all,  thy 
noble  self  forever  near  ?  Oh  !  for  a  thousand 
hearts  to  rejoice,  and  ten  thousand  lips  to  speak 
while  mine  eyes  weep  tears  that  drown  words. 

But,  dear,  noble  Mortara,  call  not  all  the  hap 
piness  your  great  heart  plans  for  me  a  return  for 
the  one  poor  little  service  once  in  my  power  to 
render  you.  No,  no,  say  not  so !  A  grain  of 
sand  weighed  from  your  love  were  more  to  my 
heart  than  the  world  from  your  obligation. 
Love  is  blessed  only  with  love;  and  gifts,  for 
tune,  benefits,  all  were  nothing  save  thine  own 
ever-abiding  love  were  with  it.  While  every 
word  of  your  precious  letter  is  heavy  with  prom 
ise,  this  one  line  at  its  close  makes  the  gold  and 
the  purple  of  it  all :  — 


82  MORTAR  A. 

"  Dearest  Helen,  all  that  I  ever  was  to  you  I 
am,  and  all  that  I  am,  with  God's  help,  I  ever 
shall  be."  Yesterday  I  was  poor  in  spirit,  poor 
in  heart,  poor  in  all  things ;  but  to-day  this  one 
line  makes  my  heart  evermore, 

"  A  palace  rich  and  purple  chambered, 
And  the  lord  himself  at  home." 

Ah !  yes,  dearest,  dearest  Mortara/ 1  know 
now  that  thou  art  too  great  and  too  noble  ever, 
ever  to  change  ;  and  ere  long,  if  not  in  this 
world,  far,  far  up  in  the  flowery  fields  of  God's 
love,  radiant  in  the  light  of  heaven,  I  shall  walk 
linked  hands  with  thee,  and  love  thee  forever, 

0  star  of  my  soul,  light  of  my  thoughts,  all 
the  angels  attend  thee ;  and  our  Heavenly  Father 
grant  that  the  slow  turning  moons,  yet  to  come 
and  wane,  be  crowded  only  with  all  holy  thanks, 
and  end  only  in  love's  sweet  rejoicings,, 

HELEN. 


PART   VI. 

LOUISVILLE,  KENTUCKY,  June  1,  1853. 

MORTARA, —  I  received  your  dear  sad  letter 
in  the  far  South,  and  all  the  way  up  the  river  I 
have  worn  it  on  my  heart,  now  weeping  and  now 
rejoicing  over  its  contents  :  weeping  that  like 
the  Roman  in  his  prophecy  you  are  sitting  alone 
in  that  far-off  land  amidst  the  smouldering  ruins 
of  your  fortunes,  your  hopes,  and  your  toils ;  but 
rejoicing  that  like  the  prophet  among  the  deso 
lations  of  Jerusalem  ^you  have  the  heart  to  feel 
that  the  hand  of  your  God__is  good  upon  you, 
and  the  courage  still  "to  rise  up  and  build."  0 
dearest,  dearest,  noblest  Mortara,  pray  do  so,  and 
never,  never  despair !  The  good  angels  will  be 
thy  watch  day  and  night,  while  my  heart  will  be 
making  prayers  unto  our  God  for  thee,  even  from 
the  rising  of  the  morning  till  the  stars  appear. 

Oh,  no,  no !  be  not  disheartened,  but  go 
strengthen  thyself  and  encamp  again  over 
against  the  world  like  Israel's  two  little  flocks 
of  kids,  trusting  in  the  Lord  who  is  both  God 
of  the  hills  and  of  the  valleys ;  and  ere  many 
years  are  past,  believe  me,  you  will  be  saying, 
like  brave  Themistocles  in  his  exile  :  "  I  had 
been  undone  but  for  my  undoing." 
/The  bitter  sweet  is  after  all  life's  richest  sweet, 


84  MORTARA. 

only  so  we  had  the  taste  or  the  wisdom  to  relish 
it,  and  toiling  in  a  good  cause  a  thousand,  thou 
sand  times  better  for  the  soul  than  sipping  from 
that  vapid  cup  the  world  calls  happiness. 
(  Men  name  endurance  the  mightiest  of  the  vir 
tues,  but  it  is  far  more  apportioned  to  woman's 
lot  than  to  man's./  The  glory  of  action  is  his ; 
and,  Mortara,  even  now  despite  my  tears  for 
your  losses,  I  almost  envy  you  the  exciting  strifes 
of  rebuilding  your  broken  fortunes.  Oh  !  only 
to-day  do  I  see  how  courageous  and  noble  and 
true  you  are.  (J±s  the  frosts  upon  the  fo^eslleaveii 
briugi_out_their  splendors,  so  adversities,  do  but 
reveal  your  greatness  and  your  goodness/  And 
0  Mortara,  Heaven  knows  too  that  you  were 
never,  never  before  half  so  preckms  and  half  so 
beloved.  /With  your  immen^tiF^alth  and  your 
thousand  other  nameless  advantages,  you  seemed 
to  me  almost  some  far-off  blessed  Abraham,  with 
an  impassable  gulf  betw^n^but  to-day,  with 
the  ashes  of  yourprcud  hopes  upon  your  head 
and  your  heart  bowed  with  disappointment,  my 
spirit  would  fain  cross  the  deserts  of  the  universe 
to  rest  one  hour  in  the  bosom  of  your  sympa 
thies  and  your  love. 

Calling  you  mine,  though,  seems  always  like 
claiming  something  possibly  in  the  gift  of  God 
and  possibly  not;  and  as  a  proof  of  your  un 
abated  love,  how  I  bless  you  for  the  risk  that 
snatched  from  the  flames  my  picture  and  my  let 
ters  !  How  I  bless  you  too,  brave,  noble  Mor- 


MORTARA.  85 

tara,  that  even  amid  the  gloom  and  the  untold 
ruin  around  you,  you  can  still  forget  all  to  pity 
my  disappointment,  and  rejoice  at  the  new  light 
in  these  poor,  poor  eyes  of  mine.  But,  dearest, 
I  know  now  that  it  may  not,  cannot  last.  Alas ! 
no  ;  the  closing  scene  of  the  vision  with  the 
light  and  the  day  is  not  yet.  Four  more  scenes 
of  the  long,  lonely  way  still  wait  to  be  wandered 
through,  and  I  find  it  hard  indeed  to  be  con 
soled  for  the  disappointment  of  these  words  : 
"  God  only  knows  now  when  I  may  return." 

Oh  !  how  like  an  eternity  the  long  night  of 
your  absence  breaks  upon  my  heart,  as  if  all  time 
were  too  short  for  its  setting  sun  to  rise  again. 
Alas !  but  for  this  promise  the  dove  of  hope  had 
taken  wing  from  my  soul  to  return  no  more, 
nevermore : 

"  Memory  of  you  and  the  past  can  only  cease 
with  death."  Thus  all  that  Heaven  sends,  de 
parting  bequeaths  its  comforter ;  and  0  dearest, 
ever  dearest  Mortara,  repeat  these  words  often, 
often  !  Let  them  be  green  leaves,  assuring  me 
again  and  again  that  the  heart  whence  they  came 
is  forever  fresh  and  sunny  and  beautiful,  as  erst 
it  was. 

So,  commending  you,  dearest,  to  the  love  of 
God  and  the  tender  mercies  of  the  blessed  Mes 
siah,  in  all  love  and  all  tears,  as  ever  and  forever 
I  wait  for  thee  and  watch  for  thee  and  pray  for 
thee.  HELEN. 


PART  VII. 

CANASERAGA  VALLEY,  August  15,  1854. 

MORTARA,  —  0  thou  on  whom  my  soul  smiles, 
and  around  whom  love  even-lingers^!  Thou  em 
balmed,  preserved,  endeared ;  thou  all  beloved  ! 
Thou  star  remote,  yet  never  gone ;  thou  always 
near,  yet  ever  distant,  would  thou  wert  with  me, 
Avould  thou  wert  with  me  !  Thy  coming  were  as 
I  oft  have  met  thee  in  the  paradise  of  dreams ; 
thy  embrace  the  reception  of  the  angels,  and  thy 
whispers  and  thy  kisses  the  joys  that  my  heart 
knew  in  the  days  that  are  gone,  in  the  days  that 
are  gone ! 

By  its  long  waiting  my  spirit  has  grown  meek 
and  forbearing ;  but  sometimes  this  heart  of 
mine  rebels,  and  every  voice  of  my  soul  cries : 
I  must  hear  from  Mortara  or  die.  But  death 
comes  not,  and  days  —  long,  weary  days  —  clus 
ter  in  my  memory  like  night-blossoms  bedewed 
with  darkness. 

I  am  writing  you  with  your  portrait  smiling 
down  upon  me  here,  and  ever  and  anon  I  fancy 
your  bright  eyes  flashing  a  look  over  my  page, 
and  your  eloquent  lips  moving  to  words  just 
ever  so  little  too  low  for  the  rapture  of  mine  ear. 
Ah  !  I  would  fain  ask  of  thy  shadow  even  : 
When  will  ambition  be  gratified,  those  high 


88  MORTARA. 

hopes  once  more  builded  up,  and  all  that  weighs 
down  thy  great  heart  swept  away  ? 

Oh,  could  I  melt  down  the  pleasures  of  a  life 
time  into  one  draught  I  would  give  it  for  the 
intoxicating  joy  of  once  beholding  those  black 
eyes  of  thine,  radiant  with  the  fullness  of  all 
their  brilliant  desires. 

What !  did  I  then  sigh  to  see  thee  a  Solo 
mon  with  his  shining  Ophirs  to  draw  from,  or  a 
Crossus  with  his  glittering  vaults  uncounted  ? 
Ah !  as  well  give  thee  wings  to  touch  the  stars, 
and  then  go  sighing  evermore  for  the  world's 
lost  Alkahest,  wherewith  to  melt  and  mould  thy 
heart  anew,  summon  thy  thoughts,  and  evoke 
thy  presence,  all  radiant  and  beautiful  as  thou 
art.  No,  no !  [Even  the  dream  of  thy  coming 
is  a  thing  to  break  joy  upon,  and  a  thousand, 
thousand  times  better  than  mourning  thy  loss 
amid  the  tombs  of  thy  promises  gone  to  decay. 
>CWould,  though,  such  were  the  pity  in  heaven 
for  beings  out  of  it  that,  though  destined  never 
more  to  set  my  heart  around  with  thy  smile^  I 
might  at  least  die  for  thee ;  and,  dying,  seize  the 
voices  of  the  winds  evermore  to  hymn  thy  name 
with  the  swelling  harmonies  of  the  skiesy  teach 
it  to  the  breezes  o'er  the  main y  and  whisper  it 
with  the  low  breathing  of  the  flowers  \J 

Mortara,  every  moon,  as  I  promised,  I  write 
you  ;  but  alas  !  no  moon,  however  bright,  brings 
me  any  more  aught  in  return.  Either  some  un 
toward  fate  deprives  me  of  your  letters,  or  in 


MORTAR  A.  89 

your  renewed  strifes  for  fortune  you  make  your 
self  forget  one  who,  wearing  thy  name  forever 
on  her  lips,  wears  the  years  away  wreathing  it 
o'er  and  o'er  with  prayers  for  thee,  all  luminous 
with  love  and  dewy  with  tears. 

Oh !  the  assembled  universe  in  the  love  I  bear 
it  could  not  balance  one  throb  my  heart  feels  for 
thee ;  and  had  I  but  one  new  wlSsper  from  thy 
love,  Mortara,  the  radiant  night-heaven  with  all 
its  skies  and  stars  could  not  buy  it/  Ah !  no ; 
dark  and  lonely  as  the  world  is/ even  to  know 
thalr  y'ou  live  with  so  much  as  a  prayer,  for  me 
shut  up  in  your  thoughts  were  a  thousand,  thou 
sand  times  more  to  my  joy  than  a  crown  set  with 
stars  plucked  from  the  belts  of  Orion^  while  one 
other  fond  word  of  thine  were  forevermore  the 
sweet  Selah  to  my  heart's  last  dream  of  love.  / 

Alas !  language  is  too  poor.  It  doth  but 
symbol  the  heart's  deep  yearnings,  and  words 
are  weights  to  my  love's  white-winged  thoughts 
of  thee. | 

But,  Mortara,  fare  thee  well !  Ere  long  thou 
wilt  come  again,  and  I  shall  scream  as  though 
existence  were  spent  in  that  one  breath,  and  my 
heart  will  sink  with  the  weight  of  its  very  joy. 

HELEN. 


90  MORTAR  A. 


CANASERAGA  VALLEY,  September  17,  1854. 

MORTARA,  —  This  is  one  of  those  quandary 
days  when  one  hardly  knows  what  to  do  with 
one's  self.  Indeed,  all  nature  seems  in  a  quan 
dary.  Glad  summer  has  left  us,  and  this  is  the 
coming  in  of  autumn.  The  sky  looks  wonder 
ing  whether  to  wear  her  white,  her  blue,  or  her 
smoky  veil.  The  leaves  on  the  trees  seem  in 
doubt  whether  to  turn  red  or  yellow  or  stay 
green,  and  the  birds  appear  to  be  postponing 
from  day  to  day  some  long  half-desired  and  half- 
dreaded  journey.  Just  so  my  heart  coaxes  me  : 
Do  not  go  to-day,  to-morrow ;  but  oh !  to-mor 
row  I  must  go. 

The  fires  that  kindle  my  thoughts  and  the 
tides  that  flow  in  my  veins  all  fountain  here  ; 
but  had  this  valley  home  no  other  endearment, 
so  long  as  thy  shadow  hangs  upon  its  walls  it  is 
a  Mecca  temple,  where  to  journey  to  and  pray 
and  weep. 

Your  letter,  care  of  Benoni,  was  lost ;  and, 
believe  me,  had  I  barks  on  all  the  seas  and 
they  were  wrecked,  I  had  regretted  them  less 
than  that  dear  letter  of  thine,  with  all  its  pre 
cious  freightage  gone  down  forever.  Love  mag- 
nifieth  all  things,  but  mostly  that  which  it  hath 
lost.  Thy  letter  here,  it  were  perchance  cold 


MORTAR  A.  91 

and  accusing,  but  lost  't  is  a  chart  of  thy  love's 
promised  Eden,  with  thy  tears  like  dews  on  all 
the  flowers,  and  thy  sighs  like  lonely  winds, 
moaning  ever,  ever.  Ah !  fancy,  thou  genii  to 
love,  how  much  I  owe  thee ! 

Pray,  Mortara,  how  much  gold  must  you  have 
to  cancel  those  "  debts  of  honor,"  as  you  call 
them  ?  How  high  must  the  pile  be,  and  at  what 
rate  does  it  grow  ?  Oh  !  tell  me  for  an  estimate 
whereon  to  build  hope,  the  while  I  go  on 
wandering,  wandering,  toiling  as  ever  with  thy 
name  last  on  my  lips,  thine  image  latest  in  my 
thoughts,  and  fond  memories  of  thee  forever 
circling  around  my  heart. 

Oh !  this  world  is  such  a  chaos  of  contradic 
tions.  We  do  not  reach  blessings,  but  forever 
pendulum  betwixt  them,  always  going  to  possess, 
but  never  possessing.  I  left  thee  for  the  world, 
but  -  lea  vino-  thee  I  left  the  world,  —  left  thee 

o 

alas  !  at  the  fated  call  of  the  vision  ;  hence  for 
ever  wandering,  wandering,  just  as  now  I  press 
hands  and  part  with  all  who  bless  and  smile  on 
me  here,  thus  garlanding  the  tomb  thine  absence 
forever  makes  in  my  soul. 

So,  waiting  the  dawn  of  the  morrow,  I  send 
thee  once  again  all  holy  greeting,  with  a  never 
failing  kin  of  love  and  a  golden  ephah  of  bless 
ing,  HELEN. 


PART   VIII. 

MONTREAL,  C.  E.,  December  1,  1854. 

MORTARA,  —  My  spirit  has  gone  back  into 
itself,  and  my  heart  has  barred  its  every  portal. 
My  lips  are  sealed.  I  have  no  words,  and  mine 
eyes  swim  in  unshed  tears.  Oh  !  this  is  the  ex 
cess  of  joy,  the  grief  of  pleasure,  the  muteness 
of  inexpressible  delight.  Pray,  Mortara,  is  it  a 
dream  ?  Let  me  creep  to  your  feet,  let  me  touch 
your  hands,  and  oh  !  tell  me  if  this  side  of 
heaven  I  do  indeed  greet  you  again  with  praise 
and  love  even  on  your  lips ! 

You  say :  "  When  your  angels  bring  me 
back."  Ah  !  me,  I  would  stay  from  heaven 
many  long  weary  years,  for  the  light  and  glad 
ness  and  joy  and  honor  of  that  one  Purim  day. 
But  alas!  my  angels  are  not  the  mighty  but 
the  gentle  ones,  and  you,  dearest,  are  slow  to  be 
coaxed. 

"  Sorrow  is  knowledge,"  and  wisdom  as  surely 
blanches  the  locks  as  death  pales  the  cheek. 
What  wonder,  then,  thou  dear  sage,  that  thine 
should  be  frosting  gray  even  so  early?  You 
always  seemed  to  me  a  sort  of  Mejnour,  and 
now  with  those  black  curls  so  silvered  o'er  you 
must  be  looking  an  ancient  indeed!  But  oh! 
love  is  immortal;  love  is  always  young.  It  is 


94  MORTAR  A. 

the  soul's  one  wilderness  garment  that  waxeth 
not  old. 

Alas !  what  enemy  have  I  among  the  angels 
or  in  the  world,  that  so  many  of  thy  dear  letters 
have  been  lost,  when  their  contents  had  been 
such  precious  crumbs  to  this  Lazarus  heart  of 
mine?  But  though  lost,  I  bless  you  for  them 
all,  as  I  rejoice  to  know  that  those  little  pilgrim 
ages  are  still  kept  up  in  honor  of  the  arrival  of 
mine,  and  offerings  for  them  doubled  too  when 
written  with  my  own  hand. 

The  old  alchemist,  whose  mystic  vapors 
wrought  such  magic  upon  my  eyes,  has  gone 
again  to  his  own  land,  leaving  the  day  little  or 
no  brighter  to  me  than  when  he  came ;  and 
henceon  I  do  but  wait  the  return  of  my  pale 
Polar  star,  whose  sweet  light  faded  from  my 
sky  so  long,  long  ago,  oh !  so  long,  long  ago. 

Mortara,  I  did  indeed  turn  back  when  the 
fates  began  to  frown  upon  your  way.  My  heart, 
though,  was  never  wronged  more  than  by  these 
words  at  the  close  of  your  letter  :  "  If  you  loved 
me  as  you  loved  another  "  — 

Madame  De  Stael  said  truly  :  "  Happy  are 
they  who  meet  in  early  life  the  one  they  should 
love  always."  She  might  have  added,  though : 
(  But  oftener,  far  oftener,  the  history  of 
woman's  heart  is  the  history  of  the  vine,  which 
first  reaches  out  its  tendrils  perchance  to  the 
stalk ;  that  outgrown,  it  descends  to  the  ground 
and  creeps  timidly  to  the  pole  or  the  blossoming 


MORTARA.  95 

cherry;  thence  to  the  fence  and  thence  to  the 
elm  or  the  oak,  around  which  it  climbs  and 
clings  every  day  closer  and  closer,  until  all  its 
strength  lies  in  that  one  grasp.  Perhaps  it 
questions  and  wonders  while  it  climbs  and  clings : 
"  Is  this  eternal  ?  "  and  then  there  comes  out, 
from  the  deep  heart  of  the  oak,  a  voice :  — 

"  Forever,  forever  !  "  Years  roll  on.  The 
oak  is  gray  and  old,  but  the  vine  with  fresh  life 
covers  it  over,  while  with  unseen  and  ever  multi 
plying  ties  it  clings  closer  and  closer.  The  tree 
dies,  the  winds  fell  it  to  the  ground ;  and  where 
now  the  vine  ?  Its  life  was  in  that  one  tree,  and 
though  bruised  and  broken  it  still  twines  and 
clings,  nor  once  unclasps  its  circling  arms. 
/^Oh  !  so,  dearest,  ever  dearest  Mortara,  through 
all  time  my  soul  must  cling  to  you.  I  would 
unwind  the  cords  that  bind  me,  but  alas  !  I 
cannot.  Like  the  stars  in  their  blue  homes  my 
spirit  will  be  watching  you,  while  in  the  dust  of 
its  decayed  hopes  my  heart  will  be  ever  writing 
thy  name  anew.  Oh !  pity  me  then,  dearest, 
noblest  Mortara,  while  now  I  look  on  the  dear 
hand  once  more  so  generously  held  out  to  me 
and  weep  alas !  that  it  may  not,  cannot  guide 
me  back  to  thee  again.  At  sight  of  the  words : 
"  I  will  cross  the  waves  of  one  ocean  and  await 

you  at  A ,"  sweet  Minnie  stopped  reading, 

and  more  gasped  than  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Now,  now  !  "  —  while  my  heart  has  scarcely 
had  a  beat  in  it  since.     She  has  little  to  bind 


96  MORTAR  A. 

her  here,  and  would  gladly  go  out  with  me  to 
stand  bridesmaid  and  meet  you  with  "  the  par 
son  and  his  scroll,"  as  you  say.  But  oh  !  I  am 
thinking  of  the  two  dear  heads,  now  gray  and 
fast  growing  old,  and  remember  that  of  the 
drafts  that  were  to  pay  for  the  mill,  yet  more 
are  to  be  sent ;  while  the  house,  so  light  and 
warm  and  full  of  cheer,  has  still  always  a  day  of 
due  for  the  rent.  For  the  eight,  too,  whose  rosy 

faces  you  saw  clustered  in  M ,  as  yet  only 

three  weddings  have  had  to  be  made ;  three  are 
still  to  leave  school,  and  until  the  last  has  turned 
to  another  for  trust  and  for  guidance,  your  ex 
ample  of  devotion  to  your  own  should  be  rebuke 
enough  to  stay  me  from  leaving  them.  Beside, 
Mortara,  you  do  not  need  me.  I  could  do 
nothing  for  you  but  love  you,  and  tell  you  so  the 
day  through.  ^And  is  it  not  better,  then,  that  I 
stay  to  pluck  thorns  from  their  paths  rather  than 
go  for  you  to  scatter  flowers  in  mine  ?  J 

God's  ways  are  not  as  ours,  and  I  was  fleeing 
from  His  way  when  I  followed  one  down  to  the 
grave ;  and  now  the  retracing  footsteps  are  in 
deed  slow  and  weary,  the  stars  even  refusing 
their  light  thereon,  as  the  sun  deigns  but  a 
glimmer  of  his,  while  sweet  Justice  seems  to  find 
pleasure  lengthening  out  her  once  slighted  work 
over  the  weary  years  like  a  fated  web  that  the 
angels  come  to  unravel  by  night. 

Alas !  that  the  little  of  heaven  in  us  should 
be  so  divided  against  itself  that  we  know  not 


MORTARA.  97 

what  to  do.  Duty  points  pleadingly  one  way, 
while  love  is  weeping  great  tears  to  go  the  other, 
and  both  are  love  and  both  are  duty.  To  stay, 
though,  seems  more  the  way  of  the  vision,  and 
hence  more  the  way  the  angels  are  likely  to 
smile  on. 

But  0  Mortara,  you  will  accomplish  what 
you  went  away  for,  and  come  again  sometime, 
will  you  not  ?  You  must,  you  must !  And  will 
I  forget  you  ?  Will  I  know  thy  voice  again  ? 
Were  my  heart  the  lost  Pleiade,  thy  lips,  thy 
tread  even  would  call  it\  back.  You  taught  me 
to  love,  and  the  hills  will  sooner  gather  back 
their  rivers  from  the  seas  than  one  love-tide  from 
my  soul  ever  cease  to  flow,  or  one  thought\of 
mine  ever  lose  its  memory  of  thee.  HELEN. 
7 


PART  IX. 

ST.  Louis,  Mo.,  April  4,  1855. 

MORTARA,  —  Many  moons  have  shimmered 
their  cold  light  upon  the  world  since  the  date  of 
thy  last;  but  now,  while  all  things  warm  with 
life,  may  not  thy  heart  also  break  the  frosty  fet 
ters  that  have  so  long  bound  and  locked  it  away  ? 

The  soul  has  its  springtime,  its  summer,  and  its 
winter ;  but  oh !  the  winter  of  thy  freezing  silence 
has  lasted  too  long.  Speak  but  one  word,  and 
every  thought  will  put  on  freshness,  every  feel 
ing  bud  and  blossom.  Smile,  and  mine  eyes 
were  fountains  of  tears,  sparkling  in  the  light 
of  happy  memories.  Say  thou  wilt  ever  come 
again,  and  the  world  were  blissful  Eden  full  of 
singing  birds,  with  skies  raining  dews  of  glad 
ness  odorous  with  love.  Ah  !  count  the  years, 
count  the  days,  count  the  minutes,  and  call  them 
each  a  century,  and  thou  wilt  have  but  a  poor 
estimate  of  what  my  heart  calls  the  eternity  of 
your  absence,  and  the  banishment  of  this  long 
silence. 

@  Mortara,  just  the  hours  of  this  one  gloomy 
evening,  enlivened  by  your  words  and  illumined 
by  your  presence,  were  more  to  me  than  an  age 
of  millenniums  without  you.  But  alas !  things 
too  bright  consume  themselves,  and  such  was 


100  MORTAR  A. 

our  last  evening  together,  when,  like  the  stars 
looking  into  heaven  and  smiling  back  upon  the 
world,  your  fond  eyes  were  smiling  on  me.^ 

Now  imagination  like  a  pitiless  genii  is  having 
it  all  her  own  way,  smiting  my  heart  with  useless 
wails  of  the-might-have-been.  Oh,  the-might- 
have-been !  What  human  soul  has  not  sun<>; 

O 

that  dirge  ?  Verily,  the  winds  come  howling  it 
by  like  an  invisible  band  of  mourners  from  the 
grave  of  all  things.  ^  Alas !  is  anything  in  this 
life  real,  or  are  we  indeed  shadows,  and  this 
world  altogether  a  shadowy  land,  while  the 
blackened  skies  above  give  us  only  glimpses  of 
a  far-off  better  home,  better  friends,  and  better 
love? 

Oh  !  I  am  so  weary  to-night,  oh  !  so  weary. 
Far  back,  ever  so  far  back,  I  crossed  the  path  of 
one  whose  first  word  melted  over  my  soul  like  a 
touch  of  fate.  We  were  opposite  bound,  —  his 
way  was  not  my  way.  We  parted,  but  like  a 
beautiful  avenger  he  bore  away  with  him  my 
soul,  and  hence,  on,  on,  forever  and  forever  on, 
I  wander,  wander,  seeking,  hoping,  praying,  but 
never,  never  finding. 

0  Thou  who  art  set  in  the  throne,  that  judg- 
est  right,  be  they  not  chid  in  heaven  who  do  us 
such  wrong ;  who  pluck  out  our  hearts,  leaving 
us  just  so  much  of  life  as  serves  our  feet  and 
hands  to  move,  while  all  else  is  forever  away, 
away,  away?  Or,  to  Thine  all-seeing  eye,  do 
they  indeed  most  bless  who  smite  us  thus,  by 


MORTARA.  101 

rendering  us  henceon  insensible  to  all  lighter 
blows  ?  0  thou  sweetest  bitter,  thou  dearest 
wretchedness  of  heart  that  we  name  love,  with 
out  thee  what  calm,  what  blessedness  ! 

Alas !  Mortara,  brighter  charms  than  the  dia 
monds  in  the  sands  may  come  to  bind  thee  to 
those  balmy  skies.      Oh,  would  I  were  there  with 
the  pearls  of  the  sea  to  win  me  back  my  "  belts 
of  gold,"  and  that   heart  of  thine,  which   our 
leavenly  Father  grant  heave  never  with  pain 
^"  and  throb  never  with  but  holy  desire ;  all  heav 
enly  feelings   inhabit   there,   and  white-winged 
thoughts  hie  thence  to  noble  purposes  Jf 

The  soul  knoweth  nothing  so  freezing  as  a 
frosty  look  from  eyes  once  dewy  with  the  tears 
of  love ;  and  better,  Mortara,  I  shut  mine  eyes 
and  die  than  that  thou  shouldst  return  to  look 
coldlyjm  meJ  But  with  these  words  for  memory 
and  hope  to  break  smiles  upon,  it  is  folly  to 
chide  and  weakness  to  doubt :  — 

"  Know  always  that  I  love  you,  and  believe 
always  that  I  write  you." 

Ah  !  yes,  I  must  believe,  I  will  believe ;  and 
what  though  the  days  be  long  -4-  blessings,  slow 
coming,  purple  by  the  way,  ana  they  are  richest 
in  the  end  who  longest  wahy  Love,  too,  oft 
blesses  most  when  most  withholding ;  and  so, 
dearest  Mortara,  once  more  bowing  and  kissing 
the  hand  that  denies,  true  like  those  who  watch 
in  heaven,  I  wait  for  thee  and  pray  for  thee. 

HELEN. 


102  MORTARA. 


FRANKFORT,  KY.,  May  16,  1855. 

MORTARA,  —  Oh,  for  new  thoughts  to  write 
thee,  —  thoughts  that  fly  and  words  that  burn  ! 
All  things  are  stale.  The  world  seems  old  and 
weary.  The  skies  wear  a  dismal  gray,  and  the 
rains  fall  heavily.  The  Mayflowers  droop  their 
heads,  and  my  thoughts  are  heavy  with  the  dews 
of  sorrow. 

You  come  no  more  to  sit  beside  me,  Mortara, 
as  in  the  long  ago,  when  hours  went  gliding  by, 
and  we  believing  but  moments  had  flown  ;  when, 
drawing  sweet  converse  from  our  own  hearts, 
you  pictured  oft  as  in  the  mirror  of  your  love  the 
mansion  fair  wherein  our  twained  shadows  were 
to  fall.  One,  I  mind  me,  was  in  the  land  of 
palms.  It  had  belonged  to  the  Mortaras  of  old, 
and  gold  now  would  restore  it  to  the  far  de 
scendant  of  their  house ;  a  palace,  the  softened 
light  in  whose  windows  was  to  offend  never  these 
veiled  eyes  of  mine,  and  whose  Oriental  hang 
ings  should  make  only  downy  collisions  with  my 
"  snowy  brow "  moving  softly  their  splendors 
among;  a  palace  of  sunshine  amid  shades  and 
perfumes,  with  its  gates  standing  always  ajar 
waiting,  waiting  that  one  halcyon  day  when  wed 
ded  we  two  would  be,  —  wedded,  Mortara  and 
I  !  The  angels  had  us  by  the  hand,  though, 
and  now  alas !  for  all  save  the  dreams  of  bliss 


MORTARA.  105 

that  we  conjured  then  from  a  Canaan  that  only 
our  own  love-lighted  eyes  were  ever  to  see  —  a 
Canaan  whose  river  between  but  widens  and 
deepens ;  whose  trumpet  priests  make  no  blast, 
and  whose  Joshua  to  go  over  and  possess  it  cries 
never  but  to  halt,  and  whose  pillar  of  cloud  alas  ! 
beckons  never  but  to  stay,  stay,  stay ! 

So,  the  summer  of  life  wanes,  the  autumn 
draws  on  apace,  and  then  the  winter  and  then 
the  grave.  But  oh  !  beyond  is  that  beautiful 
springtime  where  all  are  young  again,  where  the 
warm  tides  of  life  never  fail,  and  its  fresh  hues 
never  fade.  But,  Mortara,  even  there,  methinks, 
I  were  lonely  without  thee,  and  far  down  by 
those  Orient  gates  I  were  waiting  and  thinking 
about  thee. 

A  little  time  ago,  I  wished  thee  unhappy  like 
myself ;  but  no,  no  !  I  have  called  the  reporting 
angel  back,  and  bade  him  say  in  heaven  that  far, 
far  sooner  sorrow  come  to  me  than  the  shadow 
of  ill  to  thee.  I  have  prayed  for  thee,  too,  all 
prosperity  and  all  joy  and  peace  in  love's  sweet 
forgiveness,  craving  for  myself,  alas !  naught 
save  thy  heart,  that  were  to  me  ever  a  Demidoff 
palace  lighted  with  mine  own  undying  love  for 
thee ;  and  once  more  mine,  I  were  rich  enough 
to  give  queens  charity. 

f  Now  the  world  is  still,  and  Silence,  through 
fier  weird  telephone  of  the  night,  is  whispering 
t0  me  ;  —  whispering  from  far  over  the  land  and 
the  sea  chidings,  Mortara,  that  stir  all  my  soul's  v 


104  MORTAR  A. 

impassioned  longings  to  rise  up  and  face  my 
steps  toward  the  sunset  and  thee.  But  alas  ! 
not  till  the  vows  on  my  lips  to  the  dead  are  for 
gotten  in  heaven,  and  time  has  unrolled  the  last 
scene  foreshadowed  in  the  vision.,  can  I  ever, 
ever,  ever  be  free.  Had  the  light  remained  in  my 
eyes,  though,  I  might  have  compromised  with  the 
angels  for  the  rest,  and  gone  out  "  to  meet  you 
half  way ; "  but  wrapped  in  these  clouds  I  am 
their  slave  again,  fast  chained  to  the  mysterious 
old  pillar  of  the  vision,  which  even  you  should 
be  diviner  enough  by  this  time  to  see  was  but  a 
forecast  of  what  the  great,  thousand-eyed  world 
would  be  to  me  in  the  darkness.  You  should 
see,  also,  that  to  the  rounded  bits  of  gold  it  con 
tains  myself  is  but  the  "  Open  Sesame,"  and  the 
little  books  I  carry  the  magic  wand  by  which 
they  are  transferred,  not  to  my  keeping,  but  to 
my  hand,  the  while  the  same  ever-waiting  de 
mand  spirits  them  away.  So  I  wander,  wander, 
literally  picking  the  shining  little  circlets  from 
the  gloomy  old  presence  that  everywhere  over 
shadows  me  with  dread,  —  precisely  as  it  was  in 
the  vision.  Some  day,  though,  in  a  way  and  by 
means  now  impossible  to  foresee,  the  gold  will 
all  suddenly  disappear,  and  quantities  of  a  dark 
green  material  come  in  its  stead.  Of  that 
too,  despite  the  rougher  ways  it  will  bring,  I  am 
fated  to  wander  and  gather  the  same  as  of  the 
gold,  —  wander,  toil,  and  gather,  answering  ever 
to  the  same  unsatisfied  call,  and  with  the  same 


MORTAR  A.  105 

indifference  to  possession.  But  then,  just  as 
suddenly  and  in  a  way  just  as  unlocked  for,  the 
dark  green  material  will  also  disappear,  fol 
lowed  ere  long  by  the  shining  out  of  the  gold 
again  in  something  like  tablets  or  squares ;  and 
then  the  end,  with  its  purple  dawn  from  afar. 

But  oh !  from  the  Mount  Nebo  of  this  lonely 
hour  how  hopeless  and  endless  it  all  seems,  while 
far  back  over  the  past  I  see  only  the  Galeed  that 
my  heart  set  up  where,  ages  ago,  I  pressed  hands 
and  parted  with  thee.  Have  mercy,  then,  Mor- 
tara  !  Be  thy  noble  self  again,  and  let  this  freez 
ing  silence  chide  me  no  longer.  Oh  !  one  word 
of  hope  and  the  slow  turning  hours  were  but 
new  dials  to  wait  and  watch  for  thee  in,  with 
every  thought  bearing  torches  of  welcome  and 
tiptoe  with  expectant  delight.  .  .  . 

CBut  as  Adam  and  Eve  brought  Paradise  into 
e  world,  so  my  heart  forever  carries  love  and 
thee  in  its  memory,  as  my  thoughts  will  be  bear 
ing  thy  name  for  a  light  o'er  the  way  when  the 
night-stars  of  all  time  have  set.  /          HELEN. 


PART   X. 

NEW  YORK,  January  1,  1856. 

MORTARA,  —  Far  away  in  that  western  Orient, 
where  soft  skies  rain  dews  upon  the  golden  sands 
and  drink  back  odors  from  the  flowers,  your  heart 
has  become  like  "  the  charmed  sea,"  lulling  even 
the  winds  to  sleep  upon  its  bosom ;  and  what  a 
sin  to  roil  its  sunny  bays  with  rivulets  from  my 
gloomy  feelings  !  But  another  year  has  counted 
out  its  moons  and  seasons  to  the  world,  and 
marked  its  gloomy  centuries  of  waiting  upon  this 
heart  of  mine. 

The  bells  are  ringing.  The  city  seems  one 
great  organ  throbbing  with  harmonies,  and  all 
are  merry,  merry ;  while  Time  with  withered 
hand  writes  himself  older,  or  perchance,  in  the 
eternal  circle  of.  things,  younger. 

Oh !  would  there  were  a  New  Year  to  life,  a 
new  birth  to  love,  a  fresh  waking  to  the  heart, 
a  regeneration  to  body  and  soul  without  the 
pain  and  the  fear  of  dying.  Would  that  we 
children  of  Eve,  by  some  second  eating,  might 
win  back  that  primal  youth  beneath  palms  and 
amaranths,  surpassing  even  Milton's  picturing! 
Or  would  there  were  at  least  some  backward  way 
to  the  end  of  time,  that  I  might  be,  as  my  heart 
is  now,  ever  journeying  adown  the  sunny  slopes 


108  MORTARA. 

of  memory,  meeting  with  thee,  parting  with  thee, 
praying  for  thee,  and  loving  thee  ever,  ever,  ever ! 
Ah !  yes,  wandering,  how  sweet  it  were  to  find 
thee  thus  again,  as  long,  long  ago,  and  be  called 
thine,  be  called  dear ;  when,  turning  whichever 
way  I  would,  myself  seemed  winding  praises 
from  thy  lips  that  an  angel  might  covet  to  hear./ 
But  O  ill  -  starred  past !  /  Like  the  golden 
beams  braiding  along  thy  horizon,  thy  promises 
and  thy  glories  have  faded  away  ^and  on  this 
glad  day,  while  heaven  is  prodigal  with  gifts  and 
the  world  jubilant  with  mirth,  I  am  alone,  alone, 
alone  ! 

( Mortara,  it  is  weakness  to  love  thee  so ;  but 
the  angels  do  pity  while  I  myself  do  chide  my 
self  and  blush  for  the  heart  that  I  cannot  change. 
Oh,  send  me  but  one  word,  and  with  my  grateful 
tears  /I  will  dissolve  that  one  word  and  drink  it, 
as  did  Egypt's  queen  the  pearl  worth  a  king 
dom  ;  and  it  shall  be  to  my  heart  a  life  elixir,  a 
balm  for  aU  ills  save  the  pain  and  the  bliss  of 
loving  thee. 

(  Where  God  wills  that  we  tread  His  angels  are 
swift  to  beckon  the  way,  and  following,  I  go 
wandering,  wandering,  a  stranger  and  lonely  and 
weary  everywhere,  with  only  light  enough  shut 
up  in  my  heart  to  miss  thee  by. 

But,  lacking  all  things,  love  hath  yet  itself 
wherewith  to  bless ;  and  I  pray  for  thee,  Mor- 
tara/Happy  New  Years,  golden  sheaves  of  them, 
banded  with  silver  and  knotted  with  good  deeds  \t 

HELEN, 


MORTARA.  109 


MONTGOMERY,  ALA.,  April  25, 1856. 

MORTARA,  —  This  is  your  Sabbath,  but  I  feel 
•it  no  sin  to  give  its  sacred  hours  to  love  and 
thee ;  for  like  David  my  starving  soul  would  fain 
seize  the  purple  clusters  from  off  the  love-altar 
at  which  it  comes  to  worship. 

Alas !  my  heart,  like  a  neglected  watch,  has 
run  down,  and  stands  forever  pointing  backward 
to  that  faiejji  hour  since  when  you  have  come 
no  more.  I^ong  years  roll  on,  and  the  seasons 
change  as  before.  The  moon  comes  over  the 
hills  and  wanes  and  comes  again.  Stars  rise 
and  set.  Old  friends  and  new  ones  come  and 
pass  away.  These  hands  press  other  hands,  and 
these  lips  whisper  greeting  and  adieu  while  my 
poor  heart's  beatings  are  hushed  and  I  am  joy 
ful  no  more.  But  one  in  heaven  hath  pity  for 
me,  albeit  less  beloved,  and  to-day  like  a  green 
leaf  from  the  sunny  past  a  long-lamented  letter 
of  thine  comes  smiling  back  to  me.  In  it  you 
sent  me  the  engagement  ring,  and  drew  such  pic- 
tures  of  happiness  that  one  would  think  your 
hand  had  builded  temples  for  Happiness  herself 
to  dwell  in.  Oh  !  this  precious,  precious  letter  ! 
It  was  thy  first  will  and  testament  of  love ;  and 
while  I  wind  anew  its  sacred  lines  around  my 
heart,  and  link  again  its  burning  words  to  my 


110  MORTARA. 

thoughts,  the  love-angel  whispers  me:  'Tis  tliv 
last,  last ! 

But,  Mortara,  this  is  no  chimera  that  we  are 
living,  no  dream.  We  bear  in  our  hands  threads 
of  fate,  by  which  our  souls  are  as  surely  bound 
as  the  twin  stars  that  walk  the  skies,  wearing 
each  the  other's  smiles  and  swelling:  each  the 

o 

other's  harmonies.  The  earth  may  send  up  clouds 
to  hide  her  from  the  moon,  but  she  cannot  stay 
from  the  moon  her  attraction.  No  more,  through 
all  time  and  all  distance,  can  you  stay  my  spirit 
from  drawing  after  you  ;  and  as  from  half  a 
world  away  our  paths  have  crossed  and  re- 
crossed,  so  ere  long,  if  not  in  this  world,  in  the 
far-off  better  land  of  better  love  we  shall  surely 
meet  again.  /  There  I  shall  league  with  the 
angels  to  lend  me  all  charms,  and  robe  me  in 
all  the  graces.  Goodness  shall  be  my  girdle, 
gemmed  with  shining  deeds ;  Love,  my  crown, 
set  with  smiles  all  for  thee/  Forgiveness,  my 
sceptre,  pearly  with  tears ;  and  my  kingdom,  thy 
heart,  while  thou  payest  me  back  love  an  hun 
dred-fold.^  0  happy  queen,  happyconqueror>l 
/  But  alas  !  while  fancy,  silvery  -  winged,  can 
thus  outstrip  distance,  defy  time,  and  make  her 
self  regal  with  the  impossible,  the  heart  is  all 
humanj'  and  to-day,  though  indeed  up  among 
theT  angels  where  they  give  harps  of  gold,  mine 
would  make  little  music  save  it  should  strike 
some  chprdlike  unto  mysouTs  memoryofjthee. 
But  I  wrong  thee,  Mortara,  —  thou  dost  not, 


MORTARA.  Ill 

canst  not,  forget.  Thou  art  too  noble  and  too 
true ;  and  whatever  be  the  cause  of  this  silence, 
oft,  of t/ when  the  world  is  still  and  the  stars 
grow  pale  with  watching,  the  love-angel  comes 
to  flit  thy  thoughts  with  her  white  wings  until 
thou  dost  at  least  dream  of  me.  )  Oh,  then  pray 
speak ;  oh,  speak  to  me  once  more,  Mortara  — 
this  silence  is  death  !  My  heart  is  breaking,  my 
soul  will  leave  me  !  Have  mercy,  have  mercy, 
and  write  me  but  one  word !  No,  no,  I  should 
hate  that  one  word,  and  burn  it  with  my  very 
hate  save  it  were  that  you  love  me  and  that  you 
never  forget !  HELEN. 


112  MORTARA. 


CHARLESTON,  S.  C.,  April  1, 1857. 

MORTARA, —  This  is  a  dreamy  day,  and  far 
over  land  and  sea  my  thoughts  are  flying  lan 
guidly  to  thee.  Like  unmated  birds  they  carry 
memories  of  nests  robbed  and  gone.  Like  ea 
gles,  aged  and  bald,  they  poise  on  their  wings 
over  places  hallowed  and  old. 

Would  I  had  some  new  phrase  for  love,  some 
new  figure  for  hope,  and  new  words  for  despair ! 
Oh  !  this  is  no  dream,  no  fiction,  but  earnest, 
earnest  reality  :  my  heart  is  forever  with  you, 
and  you  are  forever  gone,  gone.  How  lonely 
and  weary,  then,  is  life,  how  tasteless  all  its  joys, 
and  how  vacant  every  scene.  But  wherefore 
blame  thee  ?  Never,  never  !  Rather  watch  on 
and  wait  till  loneliness  and  waiting  wrap  my 
heart  in  the  gloomy  mould  of  centuries.  My 
spirit  faints  and  my  heart  is  weary ;  I  bow  my 
head  and  weep,  and  despise  the  weakness  that  I 
cannot  help  —  despise  myself,  alas  !  -+-  but  oh  ! 
as  well  teach  the  forest  birds  new  songs,  give 
the  winds  new  strains,  and  the  waves  yonder  new 
shapes,  as  woo  one  thought  of  mine  from  its 
memory  of  thee.  yl  love  thee,  Mortara,  as  the 
Polar  star  loves  the  world  its  pale  eye  forever 
watches ;  and  sooner  the  skies  fall  than  I  forget 
thee,  all-forgetful  as  thou  art. 


MORTAR  A.  113 

Ah  !  whence  these  weird  forebodings  to-day, 
and  why  this  heavy  calm  upon  the  world  ?  No 
whisper  on  the  breeze  nor  the  rustling  of  a  wing, 
as  though  all  the  spirits  of  earth  and  air  stood 
still  with  some  great  pity.  Tell  me,  Mortara, 
c-laimeth  another  thine  arm  while  I  would  fain 
wrap  myself  in  it  and  die  ?  Oh  !  that  were  wretch 
edness  to  all,  and  woe  indeed  to  one. 

I  made  thee  free,  and  my  heart  was  buried  — 
buried  alive,  albeit  —  when  the  voice  of  thy  let 
ters  from  afar  rekindled  the  fires  upon  its  des 
olate  hearth  and  re-illumined  the  lights  adown 
the  halls  of  memory  by  whose  flickering  rays  I 
have  been  so  long  watching  and  waiting  for 
thee.  And  wouldst  thou  now  teach  a  brighter 
smile  to  fetter  thy  lips  and  turn  thy  thoughts 
away  ?  Hark !  Mortara,  thy  destiny  is  the 
counterpart  of  mine,  and  thy  heart,  thy  soul,  will 
turn  again  albe  another  pale  and  droop  at  thy 
side. 

When  by  the  arts  of  that  old  alchemist  the 
light  shone  on  my  steps  again,  I  flew  to  the  val 
ley  that  holds  thy  shadow,  and,  pressing  it  close, 
traced  as  I  had  believed  in  each  noble  lineament 
the  well-remembered  face  of  him  who  stood 
apart  from  me  Avith  downcast  eyes  in  the  closing 
scene  of  the  vision. 

Ah !  that  vision,  so  fleeting  and  yet  so  eter 
nal  !  I  was  a  school-girl  then,  with  the  world  so 
bright  around  me  that  only  heaven  itself  could 
have  made  it  brighter.  But  alas!  the  to  be 


114  MORTAR  A. 

hews  its  own  way,  and  ere  twice  twelve  moons 
had  come  and  waned  I  awoke  from  a  troubled 
sleep  but  to  find  the  clouds  of  a  relentless  fate 
fallen  cold  and  thick  around  me.  The  vision 
had  lived  in  my  thoughts,  and  I  was  not  long 
discovering  that  my  lot  and  its  gloomy  scenes 
were  henceforth  to  be  one.  I  bowed  my  head, 
making  no  murmur ;  and  so  on,  on  I  have  wan 
dered,  reeling  off  the  years  so  lonely,  so  weary, 
and  so  dark  that  only  God  hath  light  to  count 
them  by. 

But  then  the  end  and  that  purple  dawn  from 
afar,  breaking  its  rainbow  waves  at  our  feet  — 
for  thou  wast  indeed  there,  Mortara,  thy  noble 
self,  calm  and  sad,  like  one  who  had  suffered 
much  and  waited  long,  as  thou  wilt  be  again. 

But  for  that  conviction,  so  long  since  verified 
to  a  certainty,  I  might  as  well  be  a  child,  and  cry 
for  the  stars  in  the  running  brooks,  or  sigh  for 
the  ribbons  of  the  rainbow,  as  longer  look  for 
response  to  word  or  entreaty  of  mine.  Ah  !  no, 
had  I  sceptres,  many  as  the  rounds  in  Jacob's 
ladder,  and  kingdoms,  broad  as  the  worlds  it 
climbed,  I  could  now  never  hope  to  win  thee 
back  with  thy  heart  and  thy  love.  * 

But  while  we  rule  ourselves  we  are  over 
ruled  ;  and  as  the  Sun  casts  not  his  shadows  al 
ways  the  same  way,  so  the  shades  that  'have 
clouded  my  morning  the  evening  will  turn  across 
thy  heart,  and  ere  long  thy  spirit  will  come  again 
to  seek,  sympathy  from  mine,  even  as  now  my 


MORTARA.  115 

thoughts  are  forever  turning  for  light  and  for 
love  to  thee. 

£  Thus  love  maketh  the  light  to  our  dreams,  and 
planteth  hope  in  the  midst  of  our  sorrow./  In 
darkness  and  in  danger,  too,  love  cometh  to  us 
ever,  ever,  now  warning,  now  chiding,  now  bless 
ing,  and  always  safely  guarding.  Love  light 
ens  labor,  shortens  distance,  and  quickens  time. 
Love  teaches  to  forgive,  helps  to  forget,  and 
whitens  the  memory  of  all  things.  Love  paints 
every  hope,  brightens  every  scene,  and  maketh 
beautiful  whatsoe'er  it  shines  on.  Love  is  wis 
dom,  love  is  high,  love  is  holy.  Love  is  God. 
Love  gloweth  in  the  hearts  of  the  angels,  wreathes 
the  smiles  on  their  brows,  and  melts  the  kisses  on 
their  lips.  Love  is  the  light  of  the  beautiful  be 
yond,  and  to  meet  thee  there,  Mortara,  is  more 
than  hope.  I  shall  know  thee  by  the  charm  of 
thy  spirit,  by  the  name  on  my  lips,  by  the  smile 
on  my  heart,  and  by  thy  voice,  though  blent  with 
the  harp-notes  on  the  airs  of  heaven. 

HELEN. 


PART   XI. 

ST.  PAUL,  MINN.,  July  6,  1858. 

MORTAR  A,  —  While  these  burning  words  from 
your  pen  to-day  are  but  so  many  golden  links  in 
the  chain  that  must  forever  bind  our  souls,  I 
can  only  hold  them  from  me,  and  bow  my  head 
and  weep,  so  relentless  seems  the  hand  that 
after  so  many  years  lifts  the  veil  but  to  reveal 
the  impassable  gulf  between. 

I  never  doubted  your  honor,  Mortara,  nor 
feared  to  trust  either  you  or  your  love.  But 
honor  is  not  your  religion,  and  you  could  no 
more  have  stricken  the  law  of  your  people  and 
the  dying  charge  of  your  noble  father  from  the 
deep  written  page  of  your  being  than  my  heart 
banish  from  its  memory  a  life-long  vow  and  the 
command  :  "  That  which  is  gone  out  of  thy  lips 
thou  shalt  keep  and  perform."  No,  and  when  I 
discovered  your  unrest,  and  saw  how  plainly  the 
finger  of  Providence  was  pointing  our  paths 
asunder,  I  hastened  to  make  you  free,  free. 
Sweet  Almah  said  you  sat  long  hours  gazing 
into  my  letter,  as  if  it  had  been  a  leaf  from  the 
book  of  fate  ;  and  then  you  arose,  bade  all  a 
long  adieu,  and  went  on  board  the  ship. 

Two  years  dragged  themselves  slowly  by,  and 
then  from  half  a  world  away  came  your  letter, 


118  MORTARA. 

telling  me  over  and  over  of  your  unabated  love, 
and  claiming  still  the  guardianship  of  my  heart 
if  not  of  myself,  while  with  promises  of  return 
the  tomb  of  your  absence  was  garlanded  anew ; 
birds  of  hope  sang  above  it,  and  though  so  far 
away,  even  to  know  that  you  lived  lent  a  charm 
to  life  which  now,  alas !  is  gone,  gone,  forever 
and  forever  gone.  Ah  !  yes,  my  life's  last  trust 
is  broken,  and  all  save  its  one  sweet  star  of  faith 
in  the  beautiful  beyond  gone  down  forever. 
The  past  gleams  over  the  ruin  but  to  reveal  its 
desolation  and  its  woe,  and  cherished  memories 
come  back  but  to  smile  and  turn  to  scorn. 

Oh !  how  live  with  the  cold  corse  of  thy  love 
thus  forever  shut  up  in  my  soul  ?  How  bear  it 
on,  far  over  the  waste  of  years,  sad  and  alone,  — 
a  hopeless,  nameless  sorrow  for  which  the  world 
has  no  solace  and  no  tears  ?  j  But  the  blessing 
of  love  is  loving,  and  a  thousand.,  thousand 
times  better  thus  to  lose  thee  than  never  to  have 
known  thee  and  never  to  have  loved  theej/  and 
far,  far  better,  too,  never  to  meet  thee  again  than 
never  to  have  parted. 

To-day,  like  faded  hopes  and  withered  leaves, 
my  returned  letters  are  falling  around  me,  re 
vealing  alas !  but  too  sadly  the  autumn  and  the 
searing  frosts  whence  they  came.  Upon  the 
margins  of  many  of  them,  though,  are  dear,  hal 
lowed  words,  which,  like  spirit-rods,  move  upon 
the  past,  bringing  back  even  thyself,  Mortara, 
as  long  ago,  holding  out  the  jeweled  mantle  of 


MORTARA.  119 

thy  love  to  shield  me  from  the  world,  the  cloud, 
and  the  storm. 

Alas !  be  these  letters  of  ten  years  the  Galeed 
and  Mizpah  between  us  ;  and  would  we  stood 
now  like  Jacob  and  Laban  beneath  those  solemn 
woods  that,  parting  as  we  are,  —  to  meet  upon 
the  same  plane  of  life  never,  never,  nevermore, 
-4- 1  might  tell  you  with  my  own  lips  that  as  I 
still  hope  to  meet  you  in  heaven  I  would  not  dry 
one  tear,  turn  one  shadow,  nor  lift  one  footprint 
from  all  the  lonely,  toiling  past./  No,  no  !  We 
might  have  joined  our  hands,  but  our  duties 
and  the  high  interests  of  our  souls,  never  !  And 
though  this  final  breaking  of  the  ties  and  the 
pledges  that  bound  us  robbed  my  life  tenfold 
more  desolate,  I  should  still,  Mortara,  more  than 
forgive  you,  while  Heaven  sees  in  my  heart  some 
thing  akin  to  pity  for  her  whom  the  angels  have 
sent  to  lead  you  farther  and  farther  from  me, 
that  henceforth  I  may  know  only  duty,  and  watch 
only  for  the  white  hands  that  beckon  its  lonely 
way. 

With  fortunes  almost  greater  than  fell  to  the 
Prince  of  Uz  in  his  brightest  days,  and  more 
than  all,  with  one  waiting  to  be  your  bride  who 
doubtless  loves  you  for  yourself  alone,  and  whose 
smiles  make  the  promised  rose  leaves  to  your 
brimming  cup  —  ah!  yes,  Mortara,  with  so  much 
to  be  glad  for  it  were  worse  than  selfish  not  to 
offer  you  most  heartfelt  congratulations ;  and 
now,  from  a  heart  baptized  with  many  tears,  I 


120  MORTARA. 

pray  for  you  love  to  light  all  the  shades  of  life, 
the  honors  of  this  world,  and  peace  with  the 
next  to  crown  its  goal. 

But  oh  !  as  God  is  love,  "  love  wills  to  be 
loved ; "  and  when  even  now,  upon  the  eve  of 
your  great  happiness,  you  still  whisper  back  to 
me  of  sorrow  and  regret  linked  with  the  burn 
ing  words,  "  forever,  forever,"  whether  these 
words  mock  or  bless  /I  bless  you  for  them ;  and 
while  I  wander  on,  filling  up  my  allotted  jpart  of 
our  destiny,  they  will  be  sweet  vestal-lig^ts_Jar 
o'er  the  weajr  way,inviting  prayers  for  you 
still ;  and  though /Ve  meet  no  more  till  in  the 
closing  scene  of  the  vision  or  till  the  records  in 
heaven  have  grown  pale  with  years,  fond  memo 
ries  of  you  will  be  still  circling  around  my  heart, 
and  thy  name  still  dear  on  my  lips.</ 

Thus,  Mortara,  bidding  you  farewell,  1  dig 
and  bury  my  heart  again,  leaving  only  the 
heaven-lighted  star  of  faith  in  the  beautiful  be 
yond  smiling  above  its  lonely  tomb  ;  while  to 
me  the  past,  the  future,  and  life  all  is  but  a  sea 
of  tears,  whose  dark  shores  lie  strewn  with  the 
wreck  of  hopes.  HELEN. 


PART   XII. 

EXTR.ACTS  FROM  THE  AUTHOR'S  JOURNAL. 

f: 
NEW  YORK,  May  17,  1870.  -^Twenty  years 

have  worn  their  furrows  on  my  brow,  and  length 
ened  their  shadows  o'er  my  heart.  J  Twenty  long 
weary  years,  alas  !  have  clustered  their  lonely 
days  in  my  memory  until  I  had  said :  Love  in 
me  is  dead,  and  learned  to  smile  back  upon  the 
weakness  of  the  past  with  almost  pity.  But 
now,  when  seven  scenes  of  the  vision  have  been 
unfolded,  and  all  their  heavy  portent  rounded 
upon  the  years  of  my  life ;  when  all  that  has 
made  the  burden  of  their  wanderings  light  and 
the  import  of  them  beautiful  is  so  nearly  accom 
plished  ;  when  the  blessed  twain  whom  Heaven 
robbed  poor,  the  better  to  enrich  them  with  love, 
are  worshipping  again  beneath  vine  and  fig-tree 
of  their  own ;  when  all  their  nestlings  save  one 
have  taken  wing  to  build  nests  and  rear  nest 
lings  of  their  own  ;  when  so  little  of  all  that 
was  foreshadowed  remains  to  be  waited  for  and 
watched  for,  I  come  here,  and  lo !  from  half  a 
world  away,  Mortara's  bark  lies  moored  again  by 
this  hallowed  shore.  Indeed,  here,  —  even  here, 
where  we  parted  so  long,  long  ago,  —  amid  a 
bustling  crowd  of  all  nations  and  tongues,  angel- 


122  MORTAR  A. 

led,  we  sat  down  so  near  to  each  other  that  our 
hands  might  have  touched. 

Ah  !  yes,  we  have  met  again,  met  again  !  He 
has  been  here  and  sat  in  this  room  while  we 
talked  our  souls  regal  in  the  light  of  the  beauti 
ful  bygone,  —  talked  as  though  we  ourselves  had 
indeed  crossed  paths  in  some  sphere  remote,  save 
that,  in  all,  our  thoughts  were  still  luminous 
with  sweet  remembrance.  Talked,  talked ;  and 
then  at  last  rising  to  depart,  how  dear  and  beau 
tiful  it  was  of  him  to  clasp  my  two  hands  warm 
in  his  once  more  as  of  old,  not  to  steal  kisses 
from  my  pouting,  complaining  lips  again,  but  to 
tell  me  in  words  that  might  melt  from  the  lips 
of  one  angel  to  another  how  precious  and  how 
sacred  I  am  to  him  and  have  ever  been ;  how  he 
has  cherished  me  in  his  heart  of  hearts  as  some 
thing  not  altogether  of  this  world,  and  shall  go 
down  to  the  grave  even  with  my  name  on  his 
lips. 

^D  faith,  thou  mightiest  gift  of  God ;  thou 
white-winged  trust  in  Him  who  doeth  all  things 
well ;  thou  one  light  over  His  darkest  provi 
dences,  lingering  to  cheer  when  all  else  has 
passed  away,  thy  whisper  upon  the  dull  ear  of 
the  night :  He  will  come  again,  he  will  come 
again,  I  heard  in  the  breezes,  and  my  heart 
shaped  it  out  of  the  hoarse  voices  of  the  winds ! 
I  heard  it  in  the  echoes  of  the  past.  I  heard 
it  everywhere,  and  believed  and  watched  and 
waited.  And  now,  like  a  resurrection  from  de- 


MORTARA.  123 

spair,  his  voice  rings  again  through  all  the  silent 
chambers  of  my  soul. 

Oh,  this  one  long  Pur  inn  day,  whose  dawn 
brought  so  much  to  be  grateful  for,  and  whose 
evening  leaves  nothing  to  regret !  Once  I  would 
fain  have  stopped  time  and  basked  forever  in 
the  rich  effulgence  of  its  beams,  braided  rainbow 
hopes  from  them,  and  fringed  every  cloud  with 
their  light.  But  alas !  what  are  toils  for,  sor 
rows  for,  and  tears  for,  if  not  to  temper  our  feel 
ings  and  fold  cta(pn  the  wings  to  our  fancies, 
unchain  our  hearts  from  the  wc^ld,  and  put  us 
linked  hands  with  the  angels  who  seem  some 
times  to  forsake  their  sweet  guidance,  and  rush 
us  forward  across  Rubicons  to  destinies  them 
selves  even  would  fain  hide  from ;  just  as, 
through  the  long  weary  years,  they  have  been 
leading  me  through  phase  after  phase  of  that 
dark  foreshadowed  way  whose  darker  reality 
turned  the  morning  of  my  life  into  a  night  of 
years  and  changed  the  world  to  a  thing  of  gloom 
that  everywhere  has  overawed  me  with  fear,  — 
that  fated  vision  alas  !  now  so  nearly  ended, 
but  whose  closing  scene  perchance  lapsed  itself 
to  within  the  boundary  of  the  unseen,  and  the 
day  is  no  more  to  dawn  for  me  here ! 
/Have  mercy  then,  0  most  merciful  God  !  Be 
thou  my  morning  and  my  soul's  beautiful  even 
ing  !  Shine  thou  in  upon  my  steps,  and  grant 
that  I  keep  close  rank  and  file  with  those  who 
have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white 


124  MORTARA. 

in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb ;  and  whose  pilgrim 
feet  make  haste  to  touch  the  chilling  waters  that 
forever  roll  between  this  and  the  far-off  land  of 
better  friends,  better  light,  and  better  love  ! 

May  19,  1870.  —  Mortara  has  been  to  see 
me  once  more,  and  oh !  how  good  and  noble  he 
is  !  All  up  and  down  the  city  he  has  sought 
out  widows  and  orphans,  the  old  and  the  young, 
and  poured  into  their  laps  the  golden  fruits  of 
his  toils,  making  rich  amends  to  those  who  suf 
fered  by  his  own  losses  in  Texas  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago.  To  my  poor  heart,  too,  he  has 
given  back  its  wasted  years,  its  broken  sighs, 
and  its  unanswered  voices,  covering  all  with  that 
lofty  praise  which  fans  the  flame  whence  springs 
the  light  of  all  true  glory  —  a  just  pride  in  one's 
own  soul. 

After  counting  over  the  thousand  and  one 
heartaches  his  friendship  has  cost  me,  chiding 
himself  for  this  and  blaming  himself  for  that ; 
naming  each  and  every  disappointment  and  sor 
row,  as  though  he  too  knew  them  all  by  heart, 
he  said :  — 

"  When  Heaven  laid  in  the  grave  all  that  you 
loved  and  clouded  over  the  sky  of  your  young 
life,  it  still  left  you  peace  of  mind,  which  I 
most  cruelly  destroved.  I  wooed  you  to  forget 
your  promise  to  the  dead.  I  won  your  heart 
and  sought  your  hand  ;  and  then,  because  of  a 
change  in  my  circumstances,  I  purposely  chilled 
you  until,  divining  my  intent,  all  too  nobly  you 


MORTAR  A.  125 

made  me  free.  If  I  had  not  loved  you  before 
I  surely  loved  you  then,  but  a  sense  of  obliga 
tion  to  the  members  of  my  bereaved  family  in 
Europe  triumphed  and  I  went  away.  Not  to  be 
happy,  though  ;  —  no,  God  forbid  !  Your  image 
haunted  me  constantly,  and  as  constantly  you 
were  present  with  me  in  my  thoughts.  I  knew 
that  I  had  left  you  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  what 
I  deemed  a  vague  superstition,  or  at  best  a  mis 
taken  sense  of  duty ;  and  if  your  angels  could 
speak  they  would  tell  you  with  what  solicitude  I 
followed  you  in  your  wanderings  until  the  two 
years  I  was  to  wait  for  you  had  elapsed,  and 
then  I  wrote  you,  claiming  you  still, — just  as 
though  I  had  never  been  selfish  enough  to  accept 
the  freedom  that  you  so  loftily  cast  at  my  feet. 

"  But  you  know  the  rest.  Thrice  I  amassed 
a  fortune  and  was  on  the  eve  of  returning,  and 
thrice  I  lost  it.  The  unseen  hands  that  led  you 
so  gently  were  against  me,  and  whatever  sur 
prise  I  planned  for  you  or  whatever  castles  I 
built,  all  alike  went  to  the  ground.  But  that 
was  no  excuse  for  my  ceasing  to  write  you,  nor 
had  I  any  right  to  take  umbrage  at  your  de 
clining  to  meet  me  half  way.  You  awaited  my 
return,  and  knowing  that  you  did  I  married  an 
other.  You  have  not  gone  unavenged,  though ; 
and  now,  when  my  head  has  grown  gray  with 
years,  I  have  come  far  out  of  my  way  to  ask 
your  forgiveness.  Broken  pledges  make  a  hard 
pillow ;  but  oh !  only  say  that  neither  you  nor 


126  MORTARA. 

your  angels  have  aught  laid  up  in  your  hearts 
against  me  that  you  do  not  or  cannot  forgive, 
and  I  shall  go  away  a  much  happier  man  than 
when  I  came.  I  say  your  angels,  for  I  have 
come  to  believe  in  them  almost  as  much  as  I  do 
in  you.  And  since  —  by  its  war  —  your  coun 
try  has  ignored  gold,  and  all  its  money  has  be 
come  so  worthless  and  green,  I  cannot  help 
having  some  faith  in  your  vision  also.  On 
opening  the  first  package  of  it  that  was  sent  out 
to  us,  I  exclaimed  :  — 

"  (  Pray,  what  dark  green  stuff  is  this  ?  '  when, 
either  by  the  association  of  the  words  or  because 
anything  from  America  always  reminded  me  of 
you,  my  thoughts  instantly  reverted  to  the 
'  gloomy  old  pillar,'  the  disappearance  of  the 
gold,  and  the  dark  green  substitute  coming  in 
its  stead.  And  so  now,  you  see,  in  addition  to 
all  the  rest  I  have  the  doubts  I  used  to  entertain 
of  your  vision  to  ask  your  pardon  for  also ;  for 
of  course  you  believe  in  it  still,  as  well  as  you 
might  after  having  lived  through  so  many  of  its 
scenes,  even  to  the  lonely  wanderings  that  I 
once  thought  so  impossible. 

"  Truly,  that  mysterious  agency  in  human  af 
fairs  that  we  call  Providence  has  dealt  strangely 
enough  with  you ;  but  stranger  still  has  been 
the  wonderful  tenacity  with  which  you  have 
clung  to  its  guidance,  never  doubting,  never 
turning  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but  on,  on 
to  the  end. 


MORTARA.  127 

"  Twenty  years  ago,  when  walking  among  the 
trees  by  the  Bay  and  you  first  told  me  of  the 
wandering  life  you  were  to  lead,  and  that  it  had 
all  been  foreshadowed  to  you  in  a  vision,  I  al 
most  doubted  your  sanity,  for,  remember,  you 
had  not  even  written  the  little  book  then,  nor 
had  you  so  much  as  dreamed  of  ever  publish 
ing  one,  as  I  knew.  Not  light  enough  even  to 
walk  by  yourself ;  no  friends,  no  money,  young, 
timid,  and  unsophisticated  as  a  child,  what  won 
der  that  I  was  puzzled  to  comprehend  how  such 
extensive  travels  or  endless  wanderings  were  to 
be  accomplished? 

"  You  believed,  though,  and  trusted  on  all 
the  same,  and  talked  of  your  eventful  past  and 
your  yet  more  eventful  future  in  your  own  sweet 
musical  way,  until  I  began  to  feel  that  it  would 
not  be  a  very  unpleasant  thing  to  travel  or  wan 
der  with  you,  and  so  proposed  to  become  your 
escort  for  life. 

"  Your  good  angels  had  you  in  charge,  though, 
and  it  is  only  just  to  say  that  you  have  been  the 
noblest  and  most  self-sacrificing  woman  who  has 
ever  lived  ;  and  if  I  had  my  way,  the  world 
should  build  a  little  Mecca  around  your  tomb 
when  you  are  gone,  and  make  pilgrimages  to  it 
to  the  end  of  time. 

"But  come,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch, 
"  the  time  is  short,  and  I  do  all  the  talking  this 
morning.  Am  I  not  to  hear  from  your  lips  be 
fore  I  go  that  you  have  crowned  all  by  forgiv- 


128  MORTARA. 

ing  me  everything,  and  that  you  still  intend  to 
find  me  away  in  that  beautiful  land  of  souls  be 
yond  the  grave  that  you  used  to  write  me  so 
much  about,  and  which  you  and  your  letters 
have  done  more  to  make  me  believe  in  than  even 
Moses  and  the  prophets?  " 

I  strove  to  reply,  but  ere  the  words  grew  au 
dible  too  long  pent-up  feeling  dissolved  them  to 
tears  that,  raining  down  over  the  two  dear  hands 
holding  mine,  baptized  them  with  something 
more  than  forgiveness.  They  told  plainer  than 
any  words  could  tell,  of  the  love  still  forever 
burning  in  my  soul ;  and  then  once,  only  once, 
he  whispered  my  name,  coupled  it  with :  — 

"  God  bless  you !  "  and  again  I  was  alone  in 
the  world,  alone,  alone,  alone,  until  the  very 
loneliness  frosted  my  heart  pale  and  blanched 
the  world  too  desolate  to  endure. 

May  20,  1870.  —  Mortara  has  sailed;  gone, 
gone,  forever  and  forever  gone  !  Hope  is  gone. 
Youth  is  gone.  Life  is  gone.  The  sun  rises  no 
more.  The  moon  has  left  the  sky,  and  the  stars 
have  forgotten  their  places.  The  friends  that 
were  have  passed  away,  and  there  is  no  more 
anything  left  in  the  world  to  wait  for  or  to 
watch  for  save  the  closing  scene  of  the  vision,  in 
which,  wherever  it  be,  in  this  world  or  the  next, 
through  the  radiance  beaming  above  and  around 
me  my  dazzled  eyes  will  turn  to  look  on  him. 

Verily,  the  to  be  foreshadows  itself ;  and  how 
real  and  how  eternal  his  presence  in  that  mystic 


MORTAR  A.  129 

scene  broke  over  my  soul  again,  even  to  the 
downcast  eyes,  when  he  said  :  — 

"  The  shadows  that  have  so  long  clouded  your 
morning  have  begun  already  to  darken  my  sky, 
and  the  day  is  not  so  bright  to  me  as  it  was." 

Oh,  thus  even  our  lives  are  one,  our  destinies 
one,  our  souls  one.  We  are  one,  and  one  we 
shall  at  last  be  in  God's  great  home  of  love, 
where  all  bereavements  are  healed  and  the  jos 
tled  asunder  in  this  world  forever  united.  Ah  ! 
there  how  passing  sweet  't  will  be  to  live  and 
love  him  and  have  him  thus  ever  by  my  side,  all 
blest  arid  holy,  no  sweeter  voice  to  lure  him  and 
no  brighter  smile  to  make  him  forget ;  his  lips 
love's  rosy  fountains,  and  the  glances  of  his  eyes 
the  sunny  rivulets  of  poesy,  and  his  voice  like 
the  murmur  of  the  waters,  coming  to  me  ever, 
ever,  ever,  mingling  with  my  soul's  song  by 
day  and  melting  into  music  the  dreams  of  my 
thoughts  by  night ! 

Thus  love  annihilates  death  even,  blots  away 
all  record  of  time,  and  creates  the  world  it  lives 
in ;  conjures  back  arms  to  embrace,  lips  to  kiss, 
and  eyes  to  smile ;  whispers  its  own  praises  and 
breathes  its  own  names  of  endearment. 

But  oh !  the  lost  are  not  all  lost  while  in  vis 
ions  of  hope  and  fancy  we  may  thus  call  them 
back,  and  in  their  shining  presence  relive  each 
glowing  scene,  relight  each  waning  glance,  and 
retouch  each  fading  memory. 


All  communications  for  the  author  may 
be  addressed :  Mrs.  HELEN  A.  DE  KROYFT, 
Aldrich  Place,  Dansville,  N.  Y. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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